


Breathe With No Air

by bluflamingo



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Homophobia, Pets, off-screen violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25933393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluflamingo/pseuds/bluflamingo
Summary: After Jack kisses Bitty on the ice, Kent's attacked one night by drunk, homophobic hockey fans. He's got no memory of the attack, but that doesn't make it any less traumatic. Fortunately, he's got his friends to get him through, in more ways than one.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson & Jeff "Swoops" Troy, Kent "Parse" Parson/Jeff "Swoops" Troy
Comments: 43
Kudos: 174
Collections: WIP Big Bang 2020





	Breathe With No Air

**Author's Note:**

> Kent's attack happens off-screen, but there's a brief description of a video clip of him being attacked, and he has a brief nightmare of the attack.  
> Kent doesn't like Bitty in this, and his friends agree with him (written before the season 4 comic with the two of them).
> 
> Jax and Ari from [The Kiss: Five Years On](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19013179) appear in this fic; credit for Jax's coming out story goes to [korechthonia](https://korechthonia.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Gorgeous art by [afteriwake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake)

Breathe With No Air

Kent wakes up in a hospital bed.

He's in a private room, a small one, with a window that looks out onto an empty blue sky. He doesn't recognize the color scheme, a pale, almost mint green, but the framed picture of a cactus on the far wall looks familiar.

He's not really in pain, though that doesn't mean anything. His head doesn't feel quite connected to the rest of his body, and his thoughts are slow and muddy in a way that feels like heavy-duty painkillers and/or general anesthetic.

That's as far as he gets before the door opens, admitting a middle-aged woman in pink scrubs. She smiles at him, grabs the chart at the end of his bed, and wraps her hand around his wrist, all in one movement. 

Kent blinks and says, "Hi," a little uncertainly. She's probably a nurse – people in pink scrubs are almost always nurses – but he's not sure if he's supposed to know her or not.

"Nurse Forrester," she says, so Kent probably has met her before. His thoughts are still too slow to figure it out. "Dr Lopez will be pleased to see you awake." She releases Kent's wrist and jots something on the chart, then turns to look at the – Oh. There's some sort of beeping machine next to Kent's bed, which he guesses is how she knew he'd woken up, as well a bag of something clear flowing through an IV line into the back of, when he follows the line down, his right hand, resting on top of the covers.

Forrester writes something else on the chart as Kent blinks slowly at her and tries to remember why he's in the hospital. It must have happened in a game – he's had scheduled surgery twice, both times in the same Vegas hospital, which has purple curtains that always remind him uncomfortably of their Hockey Fights Cancer jerseys. 

"Mr. Parson." The door opens again, admitting a really tall Latina woman, wearing a white coat over black pants and a shirt in Dallas Stars green. She looks about Kent's age, but has an air of extreme competence that makes her seem older. She takes the chart from Forrester, scribbles something, and hands it back. "Dr Lopez. How are you feeling?"

Kent's a little distracted, watching Forrester leave the room with the sheet of paper Lopez wrote on, and needs a second to focus back on the doctor. "Kind of fuzzy." His voice sounds really rough, and talking hurts his throat more than he's used to, even after anesthesia. 

"That's normal," Lopez says. "I'm just going to take a quick look, make sure everything looks good at this point."

"Sure," Kent says. He doesn't really know what he's expecting, or if he's surprised or not when she lifts the blanket, and then the hospital gown he's apparently only wearing on his right side – it's just draped over his left. He's sort of expecting her to look at – he's not sure, his hip, maybe, or ribs? – but he feels her hands on his shoulder, the pull of a bandage being pulled back. He can't turn his head without being too close to her's, and when he tries anyway, the spasm of pain in his throat makes him stop. 

Kent's heart stutters with weird fear. He's used to hockey injuries, shoulders and knees and ribs, but the pain in his throat just feels wrong.

"Excellent," Lopez says. "That's looking very good. We'll need to keep an eye on things, but that's looking very good."

"Okay," Kent says, since she seems to be waiting for him to respond. 

Lopez looks at him for a moment, then smiles slightly, pulling a chair close enough that she can rest her folded hands on the bed when she sits down. "It's very normal to feel confused after surgery," she says. Kent nods. "There was a little more damage from the dislocation than we were expecting, but nothing too serious. My colleague Dr Benton closed – he's the neatest suturer on staff, you'll likely only have a small scar in the end."

Kent nods again, anxiety bitter in the back of his throat.

"I'll come back and talk to you some more when you're all the way out of the anesthetic," Lopez says, "But do you have any questions I can answer now?"

"I, um –" Kent closes his eyes, not entirely sure why he's doing so. "I don't – I can't remember why I'm here," he says. "I don't remember what happened to me."

*

Forrester, it turns out, was at least partially fetching Swoops, who follows her into Kent's room wearing jeans and an Aces T-shirt, his face all pinched and upset in a way that doesn't make Kent feel any less worried. 

"Hey," Jeff says, taking the chair Lopez has just vacated and resting a warm hand on Kent's bare right arm. "How're you feeling?"

"Weird." Kent wants to take his hand – it's surely okay when he's recovering from surgery for an injury he doesn't remember – but Jeff's looking at Lopez, and Kent's not quite sure how to get Jeff's hand into his.

"We thought it was best to have you in here while we talk to Kent," Lopez says, looking at Jeff. "As we discussed, Kent doesn't remember our conversation before he went in for surgery. It's not at all uncommon after general anesthetic."

"You said, before the surgery," Jeff agrees quietly. Kent expects Lopez to explain, but it's Jeff who says, "We think you were attacked," and it takes Kent a minute to realize that Jeff's talking to him, saying that he was the one attacked.

"Paramedics brought you in," Lopez says, before Kent can come up with the questions he wants to ask. "You sustained some quite serious injuries –" which explains surgery, sort of, though she said that wasn't too serious. The surgery, she explains, was to resolve some torn ligaments from a dislocated shoulder, and he's also got three broken bones in his left wrist and hand, all of which have been casted, his hand, when Kent looks, resting on a pillow. He's also, apparently, got bruised ribs, major facial bruising, and minor damage to his throat and neck that she doesn't really explain, other than saying that he's lucky not to have a major head injury, only a mild concussion that feels like the least of his problems.

"How long until I can go home?" Kent asks when she finishes. It's still not the question he really wants to ask, but it's better than silence. 

"A few days at least." Lopez smiles, like maybe this is supposed to be good news. "We'll want to keep an eye on your head, and the shoulder reduction. Assuming everything heals well, you should be home within the week."

She keeps talking, explaining which hospital he's at, how frequently they're going to check on him, other stuff that Kent can't focus on listening to. All he can think about is the way Jeff said _attacked, we think you were attacked_ , and he can't have meant hockey, can't have meant a hockey fight, even though when Kent tries to figure out what he remembers last he gets muddy memories of a playoff series that he's not even sure was this year.

"I don't understand," Kent says, when it's just the two of them. "Like a car accident?"

Jeff shakes his head, his eyes fixed on Kent's face. He looks tired, now Kent's really looking, and worried, and like he's maybe slept in his clothes, while sitting up. Which he probably has: when Jeff needed emergency surgery after a bad check, Kent drank way too much hospital coffee, waiting to hear that it had gone okay.

"The police don't know what happened," Jeff says. "Door security at a club found you passed out in their alleyway, about three in the morning, and called it in. They said it looked like you'd been in a fight, but there's not really – you don't have any injuries that look like you tried to defend yourself."

Kent's not much of a fighter on the ice, never mind off it, but he likes to think he'd have at least tried to defend himself. "I wasn't drinking."

"No," Jeff says, though Kent's not sure it was a question. "And no-one saw you in the club. It's – do you know what day it is?"

"Everything's fuzzy." Kent closes his eyes, tries to focus. The last thing he remembers is the play-offs, losing their final game against the... Against the Falconers, shit, and now he remembers, that Final, Jack kissing his boyfriend on the ice.

"Breathe," Jeff says softly. Kent opens his eyes, sees Jeff leaning in close, face all drawn up and worried. "What?"

"The Cup Final." Kent sounds even more wrecked than he has for this whole conversation, his throat burning with more than just the – bruising on his neck, damage to his throat, does that mean someone tried to strangle him? "I don't – that's the last thing I remember."

"The doctor said your memory will come back with time," Jeff says, which doesn't make any sense until he adds, "That was nearly three weeks ago."

Kent realizes his hands are shaking a second before he realizes that Jeff's got a hand on his face, warm and careful, and then he registers that he's started crying, gasping and freaked out. He wants a hug really badly, but just the way he's breathing had is making his ribs hurt, there's no way he can sit up without help.

"It's normal," Jeff says, right in his ear. "I know it's scary, but Dr Lopez says it's totally normal to have chunks of memory loss after something traumatic, or after surgery. She says it almost always come back, almost everything, it's totally normal."

Kent nods, leans back. His head hurts from crying, and he can feel the painkillers starting to wear off, all the pain lurking underneath. 

"Were we..." They'd talked, before the play-offs started, about going away somewhere for the summer, just the two of them. Kent usually spends summers in Vegas, mornings with the same trainer he's had since he was drafted, afternoons with the kids' hockey program the Aces organization runs over the summer. Jeff usually splits his time between his parents in British Columbia and his sister, who married a French woman six years ago, and lives in Paris now, with their daughter. This year, though, Jeff's parents had planned a cruise, which Jeff wasn't feeling. He'd mentioned staying in Vegas, training with Kent, and Kent had said something about a vacation, and they'd agreed to decide after the play-offs but talked about maybe Alaska or Brazil, where neither of them has ever been. Kent's kind of sad to realize they didn't end up doing it.

"We trained in the morning," Jeff says, because he can't actually read Kent's mind. "We've been having dinner together most nights, but Thursdays and Mondays, my folks call. I didn't know anything was wrong till I got a call from the hospital, asking if I knew you."

Jeff's listed in Kent's phone as his emergency contact, and even if he wasn't, he's almost always the last person Kent called. "I wasn't mugged?"

"The cops don't think so. You still had your wallet and phone. They suggested maybe you'd hit on someone's girlfriend outside the club but..."

Kent makes a face, then another one when it makes his face hurt. They both know that Kent doesn't hit on any girls, outside or inside clubs. "Maybe they were pissed off Aces fans," he says, like it doesn't still hurt to think about that loss, and everything that came after. He's still looking forward to the new season, always does, but there's a definite part of him that's also dreading it, the questions he'll have to answer and the extra scrutiny when they play the Falconers, even compared to how it was this year.

"Maybe," Jeff says, like he doesn't believe it any more than Kent. He's frowning, still close. "No-one really knows, I don't think."

Kent nods. He feels small and scared, and really glad that Jeff's there.

*

It turns out the surgery was in the morning, but still, no-one else visits all day. It takes Kent a while to realize that must be because of Jeff – he must be keeping people away, which is probably why he keeps checking his phone. 

"Is Kit okay?" Kent asks, a bit after he gets a dose of whatever strong painkiller they've got him on. Jeff's migrated to the bed, sitting cross-legged by Kent's hip while Kent stays as still as he can, propped up on a carefully arranged nest of pillows. 

"I texted Ruth." Jeff taps at his phone, and turns it to show Kent a picture of Kit curled in a little ball on the cat bed Kent bought for her last week. "She promised to keep an eye on your princess."

Ruth and Maud live in the apartment next to Kent's, a lesbian couple – well, queer women couple, anyway, they've never actually told Kent whether they're lesbians or bisexuals – in their late forties who mostly love Kent for his cat, as they both travel too much to have their own. Though they do both own his jersey, and wear it to the handful of games they make it to each year, so maybe they love Kent a little bit for himself. 

"What if I have to stay here?" 

"Maud said she'd just move Kit in with them if you're in here for a while."

"Tell her no," Kent says. "Kit's hated that bed since I bought it, she'll never sleep on it if she knows chilling at theirs is an option."

"I -" Jeff starts, then stops when Kent sort of chokes on air and says, "Oh."

"Maud made me go to a craft fair," Kent says slowly. "Last weekend, when Ruth had to go away last minute. She laughed at me for taking too long to pick it out." Kent remembers it, the sun and the smell of beeswax candles, little kids and women in long skirts and the way Maud looped her arm through Kent's as they walked, introducing him to stall-holders she clearly knew as 'my boyfriend on the side' with a laugh. She bought a carved wooden bowl she said Ruth would love, and the two of them bought eight bath bombs between them because the eighth was free if they bought seven, and neither of them needs seven bath bombs.

"Told you," Jeff says, smiling slightly. "Well, Dr Lopez did."

"Maud's still not allowed to steal Kit," Kent says, smiling back.

*

Nurse Forrester comes by to check on them at the end of her shift and reminds Jeff that's there only an hour of visiting left. Jeff, brought up by a nurse and an eighth-grade teacher, nods obediently and promises to be out the door not a minute past.

"Do you have my phone?" Kent asks when she's gone. He's not sure he actually wants to call anyone – since his grandma died last year, he doesn't have any family outside the team – but the thought of being left along in a dark, anonymous hospital room makes him feel a little sick. It's dumb, but he's been using the internet to sooth his late-night freak-outs since he joined the NHL, and nothing works quite like mindless scrolling through Instagram to calm him down.

Jeff opens the drawer next to the bed and hands it over, then climbs off the bed to grab a bag that's been sitting in the corner of the room all day. From it, he produces a phone charger – required, since Kent's phone refuses to even light up, never mind turn on – an Aces zip-up hoodie, and Kent's toiletry bag. "I asked, the hospital only has peppermint toothpaste."

Kent gags a little – peppermint tastes like vomit, he doesn't care that no-one except his grandpa, when he was still alive, agrees with him. Jeff rolls his eyes, busies himself getting Kent's phone charging, then settles back by Kent's hip. "I asked the guys to just use the group chat, but I'm not sure who else knows you're hurt. Maggie came by while you were in surgery, made everyone here sign an NDA, but..."

But Aces players know other players, ex-Aces and old team-mates, and the NHL is proof that you really can only keep a secret between three people if two are dead. It's a fairly safe bet that the story's leaked at least to other players, no matter how terrifying Maggie-from-PR's glare is.

"Maybe Crosby will call," he says. They're not friends or anything, but they've been to the All-Star weekend together a couple of times, and Crosby said grudgingly nice things about Kent and the Aces that one time they beat the Penguins. "Or send a fruit basket. That's what you do when people are in hospital, right?"

Jeff gives him a weird look. "Crosby's more likely to send you a bouquet of hockey sticks," he says, and Kent makes his ribs flare into sharp pain by laughing too hard at that idea.

*

Jeff leans into him for a really long time when he has to leave, presses a kiss to the side of Kent's head and tells him to, "Call if you need me, any time, seriously. I'll be back first thing, promise."

Kent holds onto that, the feeling of safety and the promise, all through the final round of meds and clipboard scribbling, the humiliating experience of being helped to the bathroom by a male orderly and the terrifying sight of his own face, scratched and bruised, his right eye black and swollen, through the blinds being closed and the lights dimmed. He can't fidget or curl up like he normally does, and lying on his back to sleep feels weird and unnatural. Lying there without Kit, curled into a ball of fluff against his back, feels even weirder. His phone's on the edge of the bed by his uninjured right hand where he can reach it easily, still plugged into the charger and intermittently flashing reminders that he has messages and calls waiting for him. He hasn't looked, beyond checking the message count, which was overwhelmingly high. He's tempted, at least to go into the team group chat, which he knows will be equal parts friendly chirping and genuine expressions of worry and affection, but even that feels too much.

He wants Jeff back, keeping him company and letting Kent ask whatever questions occurred to him as the day wore on and the anesthetic wore off. Trying to sleep feels like more work than he can manage.

He closes his eyes, imagines Grandma sitting by his bed, the way she still did even when he was a teenager, if he couldn't sleep. "Close your eyes," she'd say, laying her hand over Kent's eyes. She always smelled like lavender, from the hand cream Kent bought her every Christmas since he was old enough to pick out gifts, even once he was paying in the NHL and could also buy her expensive French perfume or cashmere sweaters. "Imagine you're on a ship," she'd say, "In the middle of the ocean," or, "Imagine you're on the biggest swing," or, "Imagine you're skating on the smoothest ice you can remember."

Kent swallows, ignoring how it hurts his throat, and tells himself, "Imagine you're in a treehouse, in the tallest tree you can imagine."

He imagines Kit up there with him, the two of them curled into a nest of blankets in a tiny treehouse, the tree swaying under them, so gentle it's like being rocked to sleep, the whole thing smelling of lavender and bare wood, warm and safe and far away from anything that can hurt them.

*

Kent wakes up to the sensation of concrete underneath him, a kick aimed at his ribs, gasping for breath and flailing for something to make it stop, it hurts, oh God please, somebody help –

"Wake up!" There's a hand on his shoulder, enough pressure that he can't sit up. For a second, it doesn't make sense, and he keeps struggling, trying to fight – and then reality comes back in, and the person holding him down resolves into the same nurse who came to do the last round of meds.

All the tension goes out of Kent at once, replaced with screaming pain in his ribs and injured shoulder, all the cuts and bruises on his face burning. The nurse lets go, steps back, and Kent lies there for a minute, catching his breath and staring up at the ceiling. He can hear the nurse moving around, and the beeping of the monitor slowing down, focuses on that until it feels more real than the snatch of memory that could just as well be a nightmare.

It still takes him a while to come all the way back to reality: when he does, the nurse is taking his pulse. She looks up when Kent says, "Hi," quietly and smiles. She's much younger than Nurse Forrester, maybe even younger than Kent, but she has the same air of calm, with her blonde hair plaited neatly back and a rainbow pin next to her name badge.

"Back with me?" she asks. Kent nods. "Need anything?" Kent shakes his head as much as he dares between the bruising to his neck and the dislocated shoulder. She writes something in his chart and nods. "It's almost five," she says, watching Kent. "I'm on till seven, so if you press the buzzer, I'll be the one who comes back. Or your phone's right there, if you need it."

She looks at Kent for a moment longer, then unplugs the charger and puts the phone in Kent's good hand. "Just in case," she says as she leaves.

It's reassuring, having it right there, and Kent knows if he called Jeff or Red or Scraps, they'd all pick up, talk to him about nothing until he was sleepy again, or it got too light to sleep anymore. But Kent doesn't know how to tell them what happened, when he's not even sure it wasn't a dream. The pain felt so real, and the fear, how helpless he was on the ground with someone hurting him – Kent stops, forces himself to take a careful deep breath. Even if it did happen, he's safe now.

Even so, Kent doesn't sleep any more.

*

Jeff's back as soon as visiting hours start, which is great, and he's brought Red with him, which is even better. Kent loves Jeff, his best friend and partner and queer ally on the Aces, has been since he was traded to the Aces partway through Kent's third year with the team, but Red is the first Ace Kent met at the Draft, the person he lived with for his first two years in the team, and still the person who makes him feel safest, on the ice and off.

Kent's sitting mostly upright when they arrive, and Red immediately hitches one hip onto the bed so he can give Kent a one-armed bear hug, careful of his bruised ribs and the sling on his left arm. Kent leans into it, breathing in the same Old Spice smell that Red's always had, and has to blink back a rush of tears. He's still fuzzy-headed from lack of sleep combined with the morning's dose of painkillers, and he feels like his skin's not all there, like the antiseptic air of the hospital is rubbing against exposed nerves. Red, like most d-men, is bigger than Kent in every way, a solid place to curl in and get comfort.

Red rests his chin against the top of Kent's head and rubs his uninjured arm a little. "Right here, kiddo," he says, and Kent's too worn down to even protest the nickname.

Jeff, apparently giving up on waiting for his turn, ducks in on Kent's other side to kiss Kent's cheek, just on the edge of his black eye, then takes the visitor chair. "Markowitz called me this morning. He's going to come by later with Maggie, they want to make a statement before it leaks."

Like most players, Kent doesn't have much to do with the team's owner, but he's always been nice enough when they have interacted. That's never been while Kent's beaten up in a hospital bed, but at least he has his hoodie, so he doesn't have to talk to his boss while wearing nothing but a hospital gown.

"Someone from the training staff is probably doing to meet with your doctor as well, so you might get some extra visitors." Kent doesn't need to ask why the trainers are coming by – just the dislocated shoulder means Kent's not going to be playing the pre-season, never mind his other injuries. He's not even sure about the opening games of the season, but for once, it's easier not to think about hockey.

"What about the team?" he asks. He feels more secure today than yesterday about where they are in the summer, knows that most of the team won't be in Vegas any more, but there's always a few guys who stay fairly close for their kids or because California's an easy drive for a summer vacation.

Jeff looks over Kent's head, presumably at Red, since he's the one who answers. "We're keeping them away right now," he says, voice rumbling low where Kent's still leaning against him. "It's – no-one wants to overwhelm you right now, or draw too much attention to this place."

Jeff shrugs. "Multiple Aces in and out of a hospital in the off-season, someone's going to notice, even in Vegas."

And once someone notices, the whole thing will become a media circus, made worse by how no-one knows what actually happened to him. "I get it," Kent says. It sucks, because there's something comforting about being surrounded by his team that Kent craves right now, but there's nothing to be done about it, and if he's lucky, he'll only have to stay there a couple more nights anyway.

"But we'll do our best to keep you entertained," Jeff promises.

Red hangs out all morning, not moving from his position as Kent's red-haired, bearded leaning post. He probably would have stayed all afternoon too, but the combined efforts of Jeff and Kent finally persuade him that yes, he really should uphold the promise he made his wife and kids to go camping for a couple of days. "Call me if they discharge you before I'm back," he says finally. "I'll come home."

"I think we can manage getting Kent home without you," Jeff says mildly, but he agrees anyway, and lets Red put his wife's number in Jeff's and Kent's phones, as though her phone's any more likely to be working at a campsite if Red's doesn't.

Jeff's still there when Markowitz turns up with Maggie and a really young man Kent doesn't recognize. Unlike Markowitz, who's in jeans and a polo shirt, and Maggie, who's dressed down for the summer in black pants, a gold vest, and flat pumps instead of her usual ridiculously high heels, the new guy is wearing a suit, and carrying an actual paper notebook. Kent figures he's an intern even before he's introduced as such, spending the summer with the Aces' media team and just here to take notes.

"Swoops, you staying?" Markowitz asks when they've gone through the pleasantries and borrowed an extra couple of chairs to array themselves around the room, the intern perched on the window ledge.

Jeff looks at Kent, who shrugs, then nods. Markowitz nods back, utterly unsurprised, and leans in to Kent, right in the edge of too close, so Kent can see all the grey in his thick black hair. "Normally, we'd be quite happy to keep this under wraps until we can't," he starts, "But you're promised for a number of Little Aces events in the next few days that you obviously won't be attending now. We'd much rather make our own announcement about why, than have it be obvious we were trying to keep this under our hats when it all comes out."

Kent nods, entirely unclear on what Markowitz is trying to say without saying it. Jeff, fortunately, isn't still drugged up on painkillers, and has no problem saying, "Because you think Kent got into a fight, or because you're worried that's what everyone else will think?"

Maggie gives him the dagger glare they're all familiar with, but Markowitz doesn't even look at him. "The latter, unless Parson's had a complete personality transplant in the last few weeks and started getting into bar fights."

"You know how this goes," Maggie says. "We can say something now and have everyone assume the best, even if more information comes out, or we can keep it quiet and have everyone assume the worst when someone inevitably decides that it's no fun knowing something no-one else knows and goes to Deadspin. No offence, Kent, and I believe you that you don't remember, but you look like you've been in a fight. Absent a better explanation – which is going to have to come from us, since you don't remember it – that's what people will assume."

Kent remembers, so vivid it can't have been a dream, that kick to his ribs, being on the ground and helpless. "I get it," he says, before Jeff can argue any more.

"Good." Maggie nods at the intern, who produces a pen from inside his jacket and makes an attentive face. "Now, tell me what you do know."

*

_Aces captain cancels all off-season events_

_In a brief press conference this morning, the Las Vegas Aces announced that Captain Kent Parson will not be taking part in any of his pre-announced summer events, including several weeks of training with the Little Aces, the team's program for disadvantaged children in the Las Vegas area._

_Parson, Aces' spokeswoman Maggie Daniels said, sustained serious but not life-changing injuries in what is believed to be an attempted mugging on Friday night._

_"Las Vegas Police are investigating," Daniels stated, "Kent and the Aces organization are doing all we can to assist them, and hope to see the perpetrator or perpetrators arrested in the near future."_

_Daniels assured reporters that, although Parson was not available for comment, the prognosis was good. "It's too early to put a timescale on Kent's recovery, but we're giving him all the support we can at this difficult time. We have every expectation that Kent will be back on the ice in the upcoming season."_

_Where applicable, Daniels said, other Aces' players will be stepping up for their captain, with forward Lucas Jackson returning early from Canada, alongside Capitals' forward Aditya Khatri, to take Parson’s place with the Little Aces next week._

_"Obviously, I wish we didn't need to," Jackson said over the phone, "But the Little Aces are really important to Parse, it's the least I can do right now, and Adi said the same, even though it's not his team."_

_Parson, still hospitalized at an undisclosed location, was not available to comment, but is reported to be doing "as well as can be expected."_

Kent's alone in his hospital room as he reads the article on a Vegas news site – Red's texted three times offering to come back after Kent told him about the press release, but hasn't yet actually done it, and Jeff's been tagged to hang around the arena and answer media questions. Kent's not sure how Maggie got permission from the police to call it an attempted mugging, when both times they came by to speak to him they seemed really sure it was a fight he'd somehow started. It's weird to think of people reading the article, thinking they know about something that he doesn't even know about.

The article's gathered plenty of comments, which Kent's really tempted to look at – surely it's early enough that most of them will still be sympathetic. He's been burned by that kind of optimism before though. Instead, he clicks over to his Instagram, intending to post a link and the quick comment Maggie approved, along with a cute picture of him and Kit that he's been saving for a day when he really needs some love from internet strangers.

The first thing he sees is that he's been tagged in a video by an account he doesn't recognize. It's titled 'oh no kent parson ' and he taps it without much thought. It'll be a recording of the press conference, probably, or one of the weird sympathy videos fans sometimes make when a player gets hurt.

The video starts straight up with no introduction, obviously filmed with a phone camera, the picture bouncing about wildly. It's dark, everything poorly lit by the glow of a distant streetlight and a security light, two figures in dark clothes almost indistinguishable. Kent frowns, trying to make sense of what's happening. From behind, it's really hard to tell what the two people are doing, and the sound's poor enough that he can't make out what they're saying.

The picture swoops, refocuses so it's on the two figures, one of them leaning down, the other hunched over, holding onto something – no, someone, there's a person in the ground, being held half up as the other guy swings, punches him right in the face. 

The figure moans and Kent's heart stops beating, because that's his voice, that's – it has to be video of the attack, they filmed it, they – 

He fumbles to close it, but his hand's shaking too badly. Whoever's holding the phone says, "- before someone comes," and the other two shift, dragging a figure upright. Even knowing it's coming, it's a shock to see his own face, bleeding and bruised, his shirt torn and his eyes rolling back in his head, obviously not really conscious. 

"Look at him," a male voice says, but Kent can't tell who, both attackers' faces covered by hoods pulled low. "That's what happens to queers in the NHL."

The video cuts out the moment he finishes speaking, replaced by an advert that Kent can't focus on. He's freezing cold suddenly, doesn't know what his hands are doing. His phone's still making noise, but none of it makes sense. 

He doesn't know how long he sits there before he realizes the noise is his phone ringing. He answers, automatic, and takes way too long to remember he needs to lift the phone to his ear. He hears Jeff's voice, takes a few second to make sense of what Jeff is saying: "- off your phone, Kent, whatever you do, don't go online right now."

Jeff keeps talking, but Kent's shaking too hard to hold onto it, feels like he can't breathe, trying to curl in on himself despite his bruised ribs and unable to control the high-pitched, terrified noise he's making. Everything is greying out, unfocused. Kent's absolutely sure he's going to pass out.

He feels a hand on his back, another on his shoulder, urging him to straighten out, then back into the nest of pillows, and he goes with it, lets whoever it is gently put him where they want him and take his hand – no, his wrist, a hand around his wrist. Kent tries to pull away, heartbeat kicking up hard when he can't. He hears himself saying, "No, please," his voice cracking with the explosion of pain that comes from trying to move, feels tears on his face.

Someone's talking to him, but nothing they're saying makes sense through the rush of blood in his ears. He's going to throw up, he's going to pass out, he's got to get away. "Help," he mouths, no idea if anyone can hear him, and that's the last thing he knows for a while.

He wakes up from what he realizes must have been a sedative, to find Jeff sitting by his bed looking worried. He doesn't know it, but it's just the start of having Jeff right by him every moment.

*

Kent gets out of hospital two days after the video was posted. Dr Lopez isn't really happy about it, but by then, it's been leaked that Kent's there, and the combination of media and fans and people drawn in by the story is getting out of control. Kent, though, is really happy to be going home, where he doesn't feel like someone's coming for him every time the door to his room opens. He's pretty sure his obvious relief is what convinces Lopez to let him go in the end, along with an extensive list for Jeff of what to look out for, what to do if he sees one of those things, and how to make sure Kent doesn't get an infection, re-injure himself, or die while taking a shower.

They sneak him out of the back of the hospital and into Maud's car, which Jeff has borrowed since both he and Kent drive pretty distinctive cars. Kent's glad for it – Maud's car is big and solid, as well as really comfortable. 

"Ow," Kent says anyway. Apparently, being trapped in a hospital bed really was helping with the pain. He's only walked a couple of steps from the bed to the wheelchair, then the wheelchair to the car door, but every part of him hurts. 

Jeff reaches over to touch Kent's uninjured shoulder, so gently he can barely feel it through his hoodie – he's cold all the time now, even in the summer heat of Vegas – and Kent's eyes fill with tears. It's been happening all the time, since the video, and the best he can say about this time is that at least there's sort of a reason for it.

Jeff doesn't mention it, just presses Kent's shoulder a little harder before he puts both hands on the wheel and says, "Let's get you home."

Kent closes his eyes as the car rumbles into motion, and doesn't open them until they pull into the parking garage under his building. He's not hurt enough to need a wheelchair, just hurt enough that he leans on Jeff all through the elevator ride to Kent's floor. 

He knows there won't be anyone outside his door – it's a doorman building, and you need a code to get to the top floors, where Kent lives – but he's still shaky with relief when they step into an empty corridor, and even more so when they get behind the apartment door. 

Kit doesn't immediately come running, not even when Kent calls her.

"Sorry," Jeff says, turning away from locking the door. "Maud and Ruth took her to theirs, I was meant to pass the message on. They were worried about her being her alone with, um, everything that's happening."

Maggie, who's become a regular visitor since the video was posted, mentioned in passing that his apartment building hired extra security, which Kent assumed was mostly a precaution, or to deal with any media that came around. He doesn't, he decides, want to know if it was more. His apartment looks the way he left it, his key still works so they haven't had to change the locks, and that's all he really needs to know.

"Can you go get her?" he asks. He's well aware that he's a little obsessive about Kit, and that it's a bit pathetic to ask for her before they've even taken their shoes off but, well, Jeff's known him a long time. It's not like he'll be surprised. 

Jeff says, "Of course," like it's nothing, takes the apartment key, and leaves. A moment after the door closes, Kent hears the key turn in the lock, putting on the deadlock that Kent barely remembers when he's leaving, and never uses when he's in the apartment. Kent's too exhausted to process what that means; instead, he makes his careful way through the apartment to the squishy couch that's the first thing he bought when he moved in. 

He'll undoubtedly regret sinking into it when he has to get up again, but it's such a relief to relax into it that he doesn't care. It's only early afternoon, the sun brilliant through the huge windows that were a big part of why Kent bought the place. He closes his eyes, focuses on the feel of the sun through the glass and the familiar hum of his air conditioning.

He's on the edge of dozing off when he thinks: _What if someone's looking in?_

It's a stupid thought, this far up, but – but there are other buildings around, just as high and in some cases higher. He knows there's at least one where you can get onto the roof, he's seen people up there, and another is a hotel, anyone could get in there…

Getting up hurts exactly as much as he was expecting, his ribs screaming and the movement, even with the sling, jolting his shoulder. He can't straighten all the way up, winds up hobbling his way to the windows with his good arm around his waist. It doesn't help. Looking out, all he can see is the sun reflecting back from the other windows. Anyone could be in there, and he never bothered getting blinds fitted, wanted to be able to look out at the lights of Vegas on the nights he couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about Jack, how long it would take to drive to Samwell and talk to him, one more time, make him understand –

But Jack has a boyfriend now, and anyway, Kent tried that and just made things worse. Now is not the time to have an anxiety attack over Jack Zimmermann.

"No-one's looking," Kent tells himself quietly. He can't help checking the roofs, all empty. "No-one's looking, and even if they were, they can't get in."

It doesn't help. If someone is looking, they'll see him and know he's home. Sure, there's a doorman, and extra security, but none of it's infallible – there's security at the rink, but at least one fan manages to get into the locker room every season. He doesn't even know all the people who live on the other secure floors, never mind all the people who live in the apartment block. Anyone could let someone walk in with them, or have a friend, or just know for themselves which apartment is Kent's, and then –

A key scrapes in the lock, and Kent startles badly enough to knock his elbow against the glass. His heart doesn't stop racing until the door swings open and Jeff – as though it could really have been anyone else – walks in, Kit riding on his shoulder and a white box in his arms, Ruth following behind. She's dressed down in jeans and last season's Vegas WNBA team shirt, her feet bare and her short, dark hair pushed back with her glasses. She smiles as soon as she sees Kent, nudging Jeff out of her way like he's not a foot and a half taller than her to give Kent a gentle hug.

"It's good to see you, baby," she says when she draws back, hands light on his shoulders. "You look like crap, though. Why aren't you sitting down?"

Kent lets her push him in the direction of the couch instead of explaining his attack of paranoia. Kit immediately jumps up next to him, front paws on his thigh as she sticks her nose into his face, wet against his slowly fading black eye. "Hi, Princess." Kent closes his eyes, presses his face into her soft fur and listens to her purring. "You miss me, sweetheart?"

"I swear," Ruth says, sitting on the edge of the coffee table and batting at Kit's tail, "She slipped out every single time we opened the door. Always came right to your place."

Kent smiles, face still tucked against Kit's fur. "I missed you too." He really wants to stay like that, where he can't see the windows, but his grandparents raised him to be polite to guests, especially guests who looked after his beloved cat. "Thanks for taking her," he tells Ruth, lifting his face to see her watching him intently. 

"Of course." Ruth glances over to where Jeff's puttering around in the kitchen. "That box should go in the fridge," she tells him. 

Kent blinks, remembers the white card box Jeff was carrying, and frowns. Ruth and Maud probably eat more take-out than he does and Ruth, at least, adamantly does not cook, let alone cook the kind of thing that would come in a card box and not a plastic Tupperware. 

"Don't worry," Ruth says, probably catching that thought on Kent's face, "It came yesterday, Darren asked me to take it for you, since there's no cold storage in the mailroom. He opened it up to check the contents, but that's all." 

Kent doesn't ask if they're checking all mail right now. "What is it?"

Jeff comes out of the kitchen with three bottles of water, and a troubled expression on his face. "Eric Bittle sent you pie," he says. 

That's – Kent, stupidly, started following Bittle's Twitter, after that last terrible trip to Samwell. They don't talk to each other, and Bittle's too media-savvy to say anything explicitly, but Kent knows how to read between the lines that tell him Bittle hates him. He's got no idea what Zimms said about him to his new boyfriend, but even if he hasn't shared the worst bits, Kent knows Bittle overheard at least some of his and Jack's last fight. He's got plenty of reason to hate Kent.

Jeff adds, "He sent a note. I didn't read it."

And the thing is: sure, Kent knows Bittle even less well than Bittle probably thinks he knows Kent, but what he does know is that Bittle didn't just get Jack, he got Jack now he's healthy and playing in the NHL. He got to come out with Jack and okay, Kent's never wanted to publicly come out, but he would have done it, back when he thought he'd be doing it with Jack, the two of them together and in love. It's not escaped his notice, how similar he and Bittle are in looks, if nothing else – and even if it could have, plenty of media outlets pointed it out, after the kiss – and Kent just… Doesn't like him. 

"Can you?" he asks.

Jeff comes to sit on the arm of the couch where Kent can lean into him. Ruth's still watching him, and Kent closes his eyes instead of seeing what her face is doing. "Dear Kent," Jeff reads, "I'm so sorry to hear about what happened to you. I didn't watch the video, but I know what was in it. I don't suppose pie will make things any better right now, but I wanted you to know that I'm thinking of you. Please let me know if there's anything I can do. Yours, Eric."

Ruth hums softly. "Not much of a get well soon," she says. 

Kent's out to her and Maud – he's out to most of the people he trusts, though only to a handful of people on the team – but he's never told them about him and Jack. They don't really follow hockey, but that doesn't mean they won't have picked up enough to suspect something. Even if they haven't, Ruth's definitely figured it out now. 

"What kind of pie did he send?" he asks, instead of dealing with that. 

"Strawberry," Jeff says, like he already knows the face Kent's going to make at that. It's better than the apple pie that's always all over Bittle's Instagram, but Kent really doesn't like fruit pie, except maybe lemon meringue. Actually, he doesn't really like pie at all, and that tells him that Bittle did this on his own, didn't ask Jack, who would definitely have told Bittle not to waste pie on a pie-hater like Kent, and might have talked him into making brownies instead. Depending on whether Jack cares that Kent got hurt. Maybe Bittle asked, and Jack told him to send fruit pie, knowing that Kent wouldn't want it. 

Okay, that doesn't really sound like Jack. They got too good at hurting each other when they were kids, but this is different, or at least, Kent's pretty sure it's different. Jack respects injury, and he wouldn't – not for something like this, not knowing why Kent was attacked.

He wouldn't.

Jeff's asking Ruth if she likes pie, if she wants it, it'll only go in the garbage if they keep it. Kent nods, eyes still closed, afraid of what his voice will do if he speaks. His throat hurts, tight with tears as much as it's still bruised from the attack. He's got a bruise in the hollow of his throat, and in the right light, it looks like two fingers, pressing in and cutting off his air and –

Kit nudges his jaw with her wet little nose, snapping Kent's impending panic. He opens his eyes just enough to look at her and reaches up to pet her ears. She rubs her head deeper into his hand, like she's trying to pet him back, or comfort him. 

"Good girl," Jeff says over Kent's head.

*

Jeff won't let Kent nap on the couch, so they compromise on Kent lying down in the spare room, since it's close enough for Kent to hear Jeff moving around. Not that it turns out to matter; he's barely finished swallowing the latest dose of painkillers before he passes out.

He wakes up to long shadows stretching across the room and Kit curled into an impossibly small ball for a cat as big as her, up against Kent's ribs where he's still sleeping on his back. Even through the sheet, he can feel her purring, warm against the bruising and low-level pain.

"Hey, Princess." He reaches down to pet her and she tips her head into it, eyes still closed. "I know you're awake," Kent tells her quietly. 

He can hear voices in the living room, when he listens. He knew there would be – Jeff promised he was staying, and even if he'd had to leave, he'd have woken Kent up – but it's still reassuring. Kent concentrates. The other voice isn't the TV, like he thought, it's Red.

Something inside him collapses in relief, tears filling his eyes. Red called right after the video was posted, though how he knew about it is anyone's guess, and Jeff and Kent between them only just managed to persuade him to stay with his wife and kids. Kent knows it was the right thing to say – Jack never really talked about how it felt to have Bob travel so much when he was a kid, but Kent knows it must have been tough, and he'd never want to do the same thing to Red's kids. He's just really happy that Red's back now. 

Much to Kit's disgust, Kent drags himself carefully out of bed, gets his arm back into the sling, and follows the voices. Red and Jeff are sitting on the couch, the TV showing Friends re-runs on mute. Neither one of them is saying anything, but they both look worried and upset.

For a moment, Kent's really tempted to go back to bed. He doesn't want to know if something worse has happened, or if there's been bad news, or if there was something on the TV about him. He knows it's only a matter of time before one of Maggie's visits includes a discussion about what he wants to say to the media, who he wants to grant an interview to, what he wants to say about his sexuality, about what happened to him, about the rush of support for him and condemnation of his attackers from the NHL and the wider sporting community. He knows he has to do it, but the thought of it makes his throat close up with fear. He can't think of many things he wants to do less than he wants to talk about what happened and what it means. 

"Do you have my phone?" 

Neither of them seem surprised to find Kent standing there. Red comes over to hug Kent around the waist where they've learned it's least likely to hurt, tidying his hair a little as Kent leans into him, then, when Kent doesn't resist, puts him in the corner of the couch and sits down next to him.

Jeff picks up Kent's phone but doesn't hand it over. All his social media accounts have comment moderating turned on at the moment, Maggie's suited intern dealing with the moderation queue, and someone else in the media team is managing Kent's official Aces email account and postal mail so he doesn't see most of what's coming in. Jeff still says, "You promised not to read the comments," like he has every time since the video was posted. Like Kent has any desire to know the terrible things people are saying about him, or to read the speculation on just how the men who attacked him could have known – or thought – he was gay.

"I promise," Kent says anyway, taking the phone when Jeff offers it. Red doesn't say anything, just turns the sound up on the TV and coos a bit at Kit until she jumps into his lap to have her ears petted.

It's stupid, but the first thing Kent does is scroll through his messages for one from Jack. He's not even sure if Jack still has his number, and anyway, Jack hasn't texted him so far. He's not going to start now.

Jack hasn't, but Pins has sent a picture of his new puppy, and Scraps has sent a rambling stream of texts that seem to be about how he's trying to cook something and failing spectacularly. Snowy from the Falcs has texted _doing ok? thinking of u_ like he has every day since the video, even though they're not really friends, and Kent hasn't actually replied to any of his messages yet. The rush of supportive messages is starting to die down now, but there's still a few from other players he knows, and a voicemail from his agent that he ignores. 

The last message is from Jax, which is fine until Kent sees there's a video attached. He feels like he stops breathing, just looking at the preview image of a sheet of ice behind the play symbol. It won't be anything bad – Jax came back from Canada early to take over with the Little Aces, texts every day to tell Kent how they're doing, has never been anything but friendly and respectful to Kent since he joined the team a couple of years ago.

None of that matters.

"Kent?" Red says. Kent can't look at him, but he sounds worried, and a moment later, he gently takes the phone out of Kent's hand. There's a beat of silence, then Red says, "You want us to watch it first?" like it's no big deal, like Kent's not shaky and panicky just because one of his friends sent him a video clip. "He says it's from the kids," Red continues when Kent doesn't say anything. "They wanted to say hi, let you know they miss you. And apparently they like Khatri better than Jax."

Kent manages to breathe just enough to laugh a little at that. Khatri's gorgeous, all sharp cheekbones and dark eyes and perfect hair. Jax is a good guy, but he's also a stringbean with muddy blond hair that he cuts too short. Of course the kids like Khatri better, even if he is a Capital and therefore the enemy. "Can I see?" he asks.

Red rests one hand in the middle of Kent's back, where Kent can feel it with every breath. On his other side, Jeff leans in to see the screen, one hand coming to rest on Kent's arm as Red presses play. 

*

The first few days are – okay, mostly. Kent sleeps a lot, cuddles with Kit, hangs out on the couch with Jeff, who's always around, and Red when he comes by in the afternoons to check in on both of them. Maud's still away with work, but Ruth comes by some evenings, and Scraps drops in once with what he says is cake but definitely isn't.

And then Kent's check-in with the doctor for his shoulder rolls around. He's totally fine, getting dressed and finding his shoes and arguing with Jeff about whether they have time to stop for coffee on the way, looking forward to losing the sling, even if the cast on his wrist will be just as much of an inconvenience without it. Then Jeff grabs the car keys, opens the apartment door to let Kent step into the hallway in front of him, and Kent has a full-on, immediate panic attack.

He doesn't even know it's happening. One minute he's stepping out of the apartment, the next he's slumped against the wall, gasping for breath and shoving Jeff away so he can throw up, right there on the carpet outside his apartment. 

"Hey, whoa, it's okay." Kent gets a hazy impression of Jeff crouching in front of him, then hands on his arms pulling him up, moving him, his half-healed ribs burning with it.

His knees nearly give out, everything shaky and off-balance, and then the door clicks closed and Kent starts crying. 

He's not a pretty crier at the best of times, which this isn't. He sobs like a kid, terrified and confused, too loud as he grabs helplessly at Jeff, his heart pounding and his whole body hurting. Jeff's holding onto him, or maybe holding him up, murmuring something in his ear that Kent can't hear over his own crying.

It feels like he cries for a really long time, and when he finally starts to calm down, he can't feel his feet, tucked awkwardly underneath him. Jeff gives him some tissues, which makes Kent cry some more even as he wipes his face and blows his nose, swallows around the way crying always makes the pain in his throat worse. All he wants is to go back to bed.

Jeff's watching him, frowning a little, his eyes dark and worried. "What happened?" he asks quietly.

Kent takes a shaky breath, trying hard not to start crying again. "We were going outside."

"That –" Jeff visibly reviews the time since Kent came home from hospital. "It was the first time."

Kent nods. "I know it's stupid, but I was – I keep thinking that they're out there somewhere, and I wouldn't even know if I passed them in the street. I just – I freaked out, I guess."

"I think that's pretty normal," Jeff says gently. "You know it'd be okay to tell me that kind of stuff, don't you?"

Kent does – he trusts Jeff so much. "I didn't know that was going to happen." He can't help looking at the door, checking it's closed. It is, and Kit, because she's a weird cat at the best of times, is sitting inside it, watching Kent intently, like she's keeping him away from an enemy. He smiles at her. "Can I – I'm going to call the doctor."

Jeff nods, says, "Of course," which Kent knew he was going to say, but is a relief anyway. He knows it would be better to try again, before leaving the apartment becomes any more of a thing in his head, but he's so tired, aching in every place that he got hurt, and just the thought of opening the door is overwhelming. 

He promises the doctor he'll be there tomorrow, and tries not to think about how impossible it seems that tomorrow will go any better.

Except that he forgot about Jeff, and about Red, and about how the two of them make the impossible bearable. It's the only excuse he has for being surprised when he answers the buzzer the next morning and Red says, "It's me, let me up."

Jeff just shrugs when Kent looks at him, makes an awkward face when Kent says thank you, like it's nothing that he knows Kent so well, that he cares so much, but he doesn't argue when Kent goes in for a hug, just hugs back really gently so it doesn't hurt.

Red doesn't, like Kent half expected he might, take Kent's hand or anything that would make it weird. Instead, he stays close, keeps Kent moving when Jeff stops to lock the apartment door, talks about his kids as the three of them make their way down to the parking garage. It helps, but Kent still barely breathes until he's sitting in the backseat of Red's truck, the one he's had since Kent lived with him as a terrified rookie.

"All right?" Jeff asks, twisting round to look at Kent. Kent nods, not trusting his own voice. It's a lie and they all know it, but no-one calls him on it.

Two hours later, safely back in his apartment, Kent can't remember a single thing about the trip, only knows it went okay because he comes back without the sling.

*

Ruth visits, with Maud, who's back from her business trip and bought Kent a little soapstone cat from the cat café she visited on her trip. She doesn't always bring gifts from her trips, but Kent loves it when she does – Maud and Ruth are old enough to be his parents, and maybe it's weird that he likes how the little gifts make him feel like their kid, but he's pretty sure they like it too. He rubs his thumb over the cat's smooth head, and thanks her with a smile that feels almost real. 

Snowy still texts every day, the same message, and Kent would think he'd set up some kind of automated thing except for how the texts arrive at totally random times of the day. He still hasn't replied, doesn't know what to say – the Aces traded Snowy to the Falcs partway through Kent's rookie year, and they've never been close, or even really friends. He knows the messages matter, he just doesn't know what to say back to them, when he's still not really okay.

Scraps texts all the time, a stream of messages that only sort of make sense, and Khatri and Jax send pictures of the kids most days, and Maggie from PR sends emails that Kent knows he can only ignore for so long before she turns up in person. Red comes by most days, and Jeff has maybe moved in without mentioning it, and neither of them talk about how Kent's started avoiding his big picture window, or how he always turns down their gentle suggestions about going for a walk, or a drive over to visit with Red's kids, or even down to the hot tub next to the pool in the building's basement to soak his injuries. 

Kent knows things can't last like this, not with the countdown to training camp getting ever closer. He just doesn't know how to make it better.

*

Eric Bittle sends another white bakery box, and this one contains brownies. No nuts, but a swirl of peanut butter through them – the smooth kind, like Kent's billet mom used to make when he was playing in the Q.

"Jack must have told him," Kent says. Sitting on the other side of the breakfast bar, Jeff's silent and really still. Jack still hasn't texted Kent, though apparently he's made some sort of statement, with his dad, about how disappointed they are that NHL fans would not only hold such homophobic views, but also express them in the way Kent's attackers did. 

Bob and Alicia haven't texted either, but they sent a card and wrote really nice things in it. Kent put it in his bottom drawer, where he keeps the last Christmas card he got from his grandparents, and the one picture he has of him and his mom, leaning in to blow out the candles together on his third birthday cake. 

"He sent another note," Jeff says quietly. Kent nods, picks it up from where it's folded and tucked in the side of the box. 

'Dear Kent,' it says, like the last one, 'Jack told me you'd like these better than pie – I hope he was right. The Aces keep talking about respecting your privacy, but I know normally they'd have gotten you doing an interview by now, so I was worried about you. I hope brownies will help a little – pie always seems to help Jack when he's down, but he said you weren't a fan. If there's anything we can do to help, please ask.' Something's scribbled out on the line below. All Kent can see is what looks like the top of a capital letter i. 'Anyway, take care of yourself and I hope we'll see you next time the Falcs play the Aces. Yours, Bitty.'

Kent hands the note to Jeff, who reads it, then hands it back. "He sounds concerned," Jeff says, aggressively neutral the way he gets sometimes, talking about Bittle. When Kent doesn't respond, Jeff adds, "Or like he feels bad."

Kent can't help the way he flinches at that – it feels like Jeff took the words right out of his head. Because Bittle hates Kent, he's absolutely sure of that, and the only thing that's changed is that Kent got beaten up by homophobes. And maybe that's prompted Bittle to rethink all his views on Kent, made him decide Kent's not a bad guy after all, but even if he has, there's no reason for Bittle to be poking his nose into Kent's life right now. 

No reason, unless he's doing it because he feels sorry for Kent being the one who got hurt after Jack and Bittle came out. No reason, unless he's feeling sorry for Kent, poor Kent who couldn't keep Jack and got jumped in the street and will be answering questions about whether or not he's queer for months, like that somehow makes a difference to him being attacked, like it'd be more okay if he was straight, or worse if he's queer for real, and the last thing Kent needs right now, the last thing, is his ex-boyfriend's new boyfriend feeling sorry for him, trying to bond or be friends like he feels guilty for disliking Kent now something bad's happened to him, like being the victim of homophobes wipes out everything else that Kent was before. Like a box of brownies can make any of that better; like the thought could possibly count for anything other than the kind of cluelessness that comes from getting everything you want in life while the backlash splashes onto someone else.

"Hey." Jeff takes the note out of Kent's hand – it's crumpled, like Kent squeezed too hard, and his fingers ache almost as bad as the broken bones in his other hand, so he probably did. When he looks up, Jeff's looking back, all worried and soft in a way that makes Kent want to cry, every time. "He's trying to help, but that doesn't mean you have to let him upset you."

Kent nods, not sure what to say. Jeff and Red are the only two people still alive who know about Jack, the only people who know about Kent's last disastrous trip to Samwell. He could tell Jeff anything, but he doesn't want to admit to how much it hurts, having Eric Bittle baking pity brownies for him in Jack's Providence apartment. "I wish he'd just leave me alone," he says instead. There's no connection between the two of them, nothing that means they can't just ignore each other. It worked fine, and Kent's so tired still, too tired to deal with Bittle feeling guilty for what happened. 

"Give me the box," Jeff says. He's still holding the note, and he takes both over to the trashcan. "Okay?"

Kent knows he should say no, offer the brownies to someone who'd like them, but he's been a hockey player his whole life, he knows the power of rituals. He nods, lets Jeff crush the brownies and the note into the trash, tip used coffee grounds on top, and it doesn't really make anything any better, but it still helps.

*

Kent can't sleep – every time he starts to drift away, his brain takes him back to lying on concrete, barely conscious, trying to call for help. He's not even sure if it's a memory or a dream – a nightmare pulled from the video. It doesn't matter; he jerks awake every time, breathless and scrabbling for the light switch, just to check he isn't there, that he's alone and safe. 

A couple of times, he gets up, tiptoes down the corridor to what's become Jeff's room since the attack. Every time, Kit uncurls from against Kent's side to follow him, sits by his feet and looks up at him like she's wondering what he's doing. She's not the only one – Kent can't hear anything through the closed door, and even if he could, listening to Jeff's breathing would be fucking creepy. It helps, though, knowing that Jeff's in there, that Kent could knock and Jeff would let him in, hold his hand or give him a hug or offer to let Kent sleep with him. 

Kent doesn't knock, just stands there for a minute under Kit's watchful gaze, then goes back to bed. He still doesn't sleep, not until the golden light of the Vegas sunrise starts to show through the windows, just enough to keep his brain in the same place as his body, to remind him that he's safe.

*

It takes longer than Kent expected, but eventually, Maggie loses patience with her emails going unanswered, her phone calls ignored, and shows up in person. She does, at least, get Darren on the security desk to call up, instead of using her presence on his accepted visitors list to come straight up to the apartment. It's a kind gesture, even if it doesn't really mean anything when Kent knows full well that he has to let her up.

She's even more dressed down than the last time Kent saw her, when he was still in hospital, wearing cream linen shorts and an Aces T-shirt. If it wasn't one-thirty in the afternoon, Kent would assume she stopped by before her morning run. 

She shakes Kent's and Jeff's hands, accepts a glass of water, and sits opposite the two of them at the breakfast bar. "For the record, this is your one and only free pass for ignoring my messages," she tells Kent as she opens her tablet. 

"Sorry." Kent knows she's just doing her job, looking after the Aces and, to a lesser extent, Kent himself. He's still barely going outside though, and the idea of not just going outside, but sitting down with someone who wants to ask him questions, write about one of the worst things that ever happened to him – or, worse, film it, when he has no idea how he'll cope with talking about things… It was too much. He still should have contacted Maggie, though, or at least asked Jeff to do it. "Sorry, for real."

"Free pass," Maggie says again, her smile understanding. "But we both know you're going to have to talk about it eventually. If we do it now, it's only a few weeks until training camp starts, and the media will move on to other things. At least until you're back on the roster."

The Aces have already announced that Kent likely won't be playing again until October, maybe even November. It feels like cheating, when he knows he probably could push himself to go back earlier – his bruising is mostly faded, and he'll have lost the cast on his wrist by the start of the pre-season. The doctor, every time Kent speaks to her, is very clear that even if he's mostly healed, that won't be the same as fit to play NHL hockey, after a summer of injury and physiotherapy and minimal training at best, but it just… It feels like the Aces are doing it because of how he was hurt, not because of how badly he was hurt.

His grandmother would have told him to take the pass, let someone give him a bit more than he needs. Kent's trying hard to convince himself she would have been right.

"Okay," he says. "Did you have someone in mind?"

Maggie does, of course. She gives him three options: a journalist from Out magazine Kent's never heard of, a Sports Night reporter who Kent knows a little, or Mary-Beth O'Hanahan from The Hockey Writers, who Kent knows of but has never spoken to.

"Why her?" he asks.

Both Maggie and Jeff give him slightly disbelieving looks. "She's a Twitter meme?" Jeff says, like he can't believe he's having to tell Kent this. Which, fair – Kent normally spends far more time on social media than Jeff does. "From the press conference?" When Kent just shakes his head – he might have been mostly avoiding anything hockey related on social media even before the attack – Jeff pulls out his phone, taps for a second, then turns the screen to Kent.

It's only a few seconds of video, a crowded room of journalists shouting questions about Jack's sexuality and right at the front, blonde hair in a no-nonsense ponytail and intense blue eyes, a woman who must be O'Hanahan, asking, loud enough to be heard crystal clear, "How does it feel to win a Stanley Cup as such a young team?"

"Apparently, the fans really liked that someone still asked about hockey," Maggie says drily.

Kent taps the screen, watches the video again. "Yeah," he says, "Yeah, her."

*

Kent hopes, maybe foolishly, that going to the Aces arena will be better than the other times he's gone out. Red offers to come with, accepts it with a shrug when Kent turns him down. Kent tries to turn Jeff down as well, promising to get a cab, since he's still not cleared to drive, but Jeff just looks at him and goes to find his car keys. 

It's better in the sense that he doesn't have another panic attack outside his apartment, but that's about the only way it is. He's gotten used to the route to the doctor, but his brain doesn't seem to care that he's been travelling to the rink for years – he's tense the whole way there, unable to look away from the people on the sidewalks and the cars in front of them. 

He's still shaky even after they've parked in the nearly empty players' lot under the rink.

"Okay?" Jeff asks quietly, walking close enough that Kent can feel him there.

Kent nods, though he's not. "It's weird being here in the summer."

"I guess," Jeff says, like Kent doesn't spend a good chunk of every summer in the place. "Come on, you'll be late."

Mary-Beth's been set up in a conference room, the photographer scheduled to come by at the end for some shots of Kent in the locker room, since he's still not allowed on the ice, wearing a jersey that, without his pads, will mostly cover his cast, the last of his really visible injuries. She stands up when Maggie leads Kent into the room, comes over to shake his hand. She's taller than Kent expected, so her has to look up at her slightly, dressed in jeans and a pale blue blouse, her hair pulled back like it was in the Stanley Cup press conference video that Kent watched all of on YouTube.

"My wife's extremely jealous of me right now," Mary-Beth says as they settle on three sides of the table. There's a glass of water in front of Kent, which he ignores in favor of folding his trembling and casted hands in his lap. The only window is behind him, and behind Mary-Beth there's a blown-up picture of Kent lifting the Cup, the first time the Aces won it. It should feel safe. "She's a huge Aces fan."

"Yeah?" It's the best Kent can manage, even in the face of Mary-Beth's warm smile.

"She went to college here, started the same year the Aces did. Apparently it doesn't make any difference that she hasn't lived here in years." Mary-Beth adjusts her notebook, then places a recorder on the table between them. "But you're not here to talk about my wife."

She runs him through the plan again, even though they've been through it once by phone and once over email already, and starts with a few softball questions – the end of the last season, the Aces' draft picks, plans for training camp.

"Are you hoping to be at camp this year?" she asks eventually, clearly segueing into what she's really here to talk about.

"Probably not skating, but yes, I'll be there. It's really important to me to welcome the new players, the rookies and the players the Aces traded for over the summer, see what they look like on the ice." Kent is trying to look forward to it – he misses the team and feeling like he knows what he's doing, the way he does with hockey, but there's always press and fans at camp, and he's really not sure he's ready for that.

"You've had a rough summer," Mary-Beth continues. "We've all seen the video, but can you tell me a bit about what happened?"

"Not really." Kent looks at Maggie, who nods – they've game-planned this part extensively. "My memory of the attack isn't great – the first thing I really remember is being in the hospital. It's weird to know that I don't know what happened to me much better than people who've seen that video."

"The video made it very clear that the attack was motivated by homophobia, a response to Zimmermann coming out. Can you talk to me about that a little bit?"

Kent shakes his head. He knows she's not asking if he's gay – Maggie made it very clear that was a hard no for the interview – and he doesn't know what to say in response, not when he doesn't want to tell a stranger that he still feels vulnerable and exposed and unsafe, every time he remembers the way his attackers sounded, _that's what happens to queers in the NHL_

Mary-Beth picks up on his discomfort – or maybe he's just quiet for too long – and says, "I wanted to believe that NHL fans weren't like that. Even knowing that some had to be, I was upset to see just how far that went."

"Me, too," Kent manages. "I mean, even if it hadn't happened to me – you hear, um, stuff, you know, from players and fans, on social media and everything, but it felt like… Where did we go wrong that hockey fans would do that and think it's something to brag about like that?" His throat's tight, and when he reaches for the water glass, his hand is visibly shaking. He keeps his casted hand in his lap, knows he can't really feel the exact bones that are broken. "I know most people are better, but it's – tough to believe it, right now." 

"For a lot of us," Mary-Beth says, like she's agreeing with him. "There's been an out-pouring of support from fans and players, for you and other LGBT-plus athletes. How does that feel?"

Kent knows it happened – he got some of it directly, and people have been eager to tell him about it. Maybe it would be different if he wasn't still mostly avoiding social media, if he'd gotten to see it when it was happening, but it all feels so distant. Where it should be a warm reassurance, it's a gap, a video of something that didn't really happen. "It's great to see that," he says instead, forcing conviction into his voice. "It's important to remember that most people aren't like the ones who hurt me."

Except that, right now, the ones who hurt him feel like the only ones that really matter.

*

Like Mary-Beth, the photographer's considerate and gentle, only asking for a handful of shots and not getting too much in Kent's face about it. He shakes Kent's hand again when he's done, says he's looking forward to seeing Kent on the ice again, and leaves with Mary-Beth and Maggie. 

The locker room's unnaturally quiet once they're gone. There's evidence of other players – gym bags in a couple of stalls, including Jeff's, a pair of flip flops in Jax's stall and running shoes in Smith's next to it, presumably belonging to Khatri. Kent doesn't normally come in for the whole of the camp, but Jax and Khatri have stuck around, still coming down to the rink at least every other day according to Jax's continuing texts. Jax keeps saying that it's not worth flying back to Canada only to turn around and come back in a few weeks for training camp, but Kent's pretty sure they – or at least Jax – are doing it mostly for him. They're good kids. 

Jeff's got another fifteen minutes of his work-out at least, and Kent doesn't want to disturb him, especially when they've barely been out of each other's sight in weeks. He's tempted to just stay in the locker room. The timetable for the kids' camp has them on the ice for a while yet though, and he's pretty sure they'd be excited to see him, particularly the returning participants. 

He's spent enough summers in Vegas to be used to the way the arena feels in the off-season. It's comforting, in a way, the quiet and the chance to just be there without anything he has to do. He's fine until he gets close enough to the ice to hear the kids' voices, adult voices just distinguishable within the general shouting. 

Kent has to lean against the wall for a moment, his palms sweating and throat tight. They're just kids, kids who'll be excited to see him, young enough that some of them will want hugs, a handful of parents who'll want to take pictures, coaches he knows who'll say hi and be welcoming and – and it's too much. The crowd, the big ice, the empty stands and the press boxes where anyone could be standing and Kent wouldn't be able to see them.

He can't do it.

He's not sure how long he's been standing there when he hears skates coming towards him. It's too late to hide, if he even could, and anyway, he knows all the adults who'd be wearing skates right now. 

Jax, when he turns the corner and spots Kent, at least doesn't have anyone with him. He stops, makes a hugely surprised face that Kent would laugh at on any other day, then clomps close enough that they can talk without Kent having to look up at him, Jax's skates giving them a height difference that doesn't normally exist.

"No-one said you were coming in today," Jax says, instead of something normal like hello, or how are you.

"I had an interview." Jax winces, the way he used to do all the time as a rookie, when he thought he'd said something wrong, before Maggie got one of her assistants to train it out of him. Kent takes pity on him and asks about the kids. 

"They're vicious," Jax says, grinning. "These two seven-year-olds, they teamed up to tackle me, and then a couple of other kids tried it on Adi, and now it's some kind of competition to see who can take us out the most."

"I hope you're upholding the honor of the Aces."

"I'm trying," Jax says, which Kent assumes meaning Khatri's winning right now. "Um – are you… How are you doing?"

Kent hesitates, torn between wanting to be honest with his team and wanting to think about anything else right now. "Getting there," he says in the end. It might not be completely true, but he's trying, at least.

"That's great." Jax grins, huge and genuine. "Are you coming to see the kids? They'd be so excited, they ask about you all the time."

Kent takes an involuntary step backwards, hates the way it makes Jax's happy expression collapse into worry. "I don't –"

"Or not!" Jax interrupts, too fast. "I mean, you're here for something else, right, you probably haven't got time to drop in on the kids as well. And it'd be kind of disruptive, actually – we're about to start a practice game, they wouldn't even have time after visiting with you. So, um –" His face is red, but he meets Kent's eyes full on, "Um, actually, it would probably be better if you didn't. Um. If that's okay."

Kent really wants to give him a hug, or pat him on the head or something – he's so young and so genuine, and Kent's so grateful, he doesn't even have words. "I wouldn't want to interrupt," he says. "I know the two of you are doing a great job."

"We're having fun." Jax looks over his shoulder, back towards the ice. "I should probably – I just came to grab some extra water bottles."

Kent steps closer to the wall. "Go for it. I'll see you in a few weeks for camp, right?"

"Definitely," Jax agrees, stepping past Kent so carefully that there's no chance of touching him. "Later, Cap."

*

It'll be a week before the article comes out – Mary-Beth apparently wants to talk to a couple of other people, Maggie wants to see the whole thing before it's published, and The Hockey Writers have some plans to tease the article in the run-up. Kent's not used to waiting, when most articles about him appear within days, and it makes him twitchy.

"You know Maggie'll let you see it before print if you ask," Jeff says. They're watching a big cat special on Animal Planet, Kent leaning carefully into Jeff for comfort and body heat after yet another doctor's appointment and physio session have left him exhausted from stress. Kit's already abandoned them, meowing indignantly at Kent the third time his fidgeting dislodged her from his lap, and he's not sure that Jeff isn't thinking about doing the same – Kent's already elbowed him in the ribs twice and come close to hitting him in the crotch with his cast because he can't sit still.

"I don't want to read it." Kent's self-esteem can't handle reading most of what's published about him, though he tries to read articles like this, where he's given a specific interview, or it's not just talking about his hockey. He's not sure he ever wants to read what Mary-Beth writes though. She seems like someone he can trust, and her online bio says she's bisexual, so he feels pretty safe in the assumption that she won't speculate on his sexuality, or at least not in an invasive way. He just can't imagine reading what someone else has to say about what happened to him, especially when he barely remembers himself. "I just want it to be out already."

Jeff tightens the arm he has around Kent and doesn't say anything. Kent doesn't blame him – he's sick of his own anxiety about this whole thing, and it must be worse for Jeff, with how Kent keeps turning down any suggestions for what might help. He leans into Jeff instead of arguing, closes his eyes and tries not to think about anything.

He's not sure if he really falls asleep or just goes quiet in his own head – either way, he startles when the intercom buzzes. 

"Relax," Jeff says, already untangling them so he can get up. "Red said he'd come over, it's probably him."

Kent sits up straight, twisting carefully to watch Jeff walk toward the door. "He usually just comes up."

Jeff looks back, frowning a little. "Okay if I answer it?"

Kent really, really wants to say no, but Jeff's probably right, it probably is Red, who did say he'd be coming by that afternoon and is really inconsistent between whether he buzzes or just wanders up by virtue of being on Kent's approved visitors list and having the secure floor code. He's really trying to get his paranoia under control though. "It's fine," he says. 

Jeff talks quietly over the intercom for a minute, then buzzes the door open. "Red," he says, flipping the lock on the apartment door as he comes back to sit next to Kent again.

Red's not, when he walks in, accompanied by his family, or other members of the Aces, like Kent slightly feared, but the look on his face says he's not just dropping by to check in. "What?" Kent asks. He's pretty sure he'd know if Red was being traded, but there's any number of nearly as bad things that could be happening.

"Nothing like the face you're making." Red sits down on the coffee table and puts a warm hand on Kent's knee, bare under his running shorts. "It's nothing bad, I promise."

"Okay." Kent takes a deep breath, trying to calm the way his heart started racing. 

"You know my neighbor's dog had puppies?"

"Sure," Kent says, since Red seems to be actually waiting for an answer, though he doesn't remember, at all. The way Red's face twists at that suggests he knows Kent's lying, and that it's probably something from before the attack that he's lost the memory of.

"She's placed most of them," Red continues, instead of mentioning Kent's gap, which is just one more reason why Kent loves him and hopes he never leaves Vegas and the Aces. "But the placement for the last one just fell through, and the kids completely love him."

So that's where this is going. "No," Kent says, firmly as he can in the face of how easily he can imagine the big pleading eyes that Red's kids have surely been giving him. 

"I'd take him," Red says, before Kent can expand on his no. "But Augusta spoke to the kids' pediatrician, their allergies are bad enough that he really doesn't think we can safely have a dog in the house."

"No," Kent says again. Red's smiling at him, soft like he thinks Kent's going to change his mind, and Jeff's still relaxed where he's leaning into Kent, like he knew this was coming. They've ganged up on him, basically, over a puppy, of all things. Kent's a cat person, obviously, though it's not like he has any objection to dogs. It's just – "What about Kit?"

"He's only a puppy," Red says, pulling his phone out, though thankfully not yet sharing any pictures. Kent's not even sure he's ever said what kind of dog his neighbor has. "Kit would get him under her control in about a minute."

Kit totally would – she's a Maine Coon, a silver lion in house-cat form, and she definitely wouldn't have any problems exerting her will on a puppy. 

"I'm not saying you'd have to keep him," Red says. He looks genuine, but Kent's ninety percent sure he's lying anyway. "But Sarah's spending the fall wilderness hiking, she can't take the puppy with her. You could keep him till she comes back, has the time to find him a good home. She doesn't want to risk placing him with someone she hasn't been able to vet properly."

"Not that I'm not sort of flattered that a total stranger trusts me to take on a rejected puppy," Kent says, honestly not sure if he means it or not, "But there's plenty of guys on the Aces who already have dogs. And who don't live in top floor apartments. What would I even do with a dog when we're playing, or travelling?"

Red looks at Jeff, and when Kent twists to look at him, Jeff's looking studiously out the window, not meeting Kent's eyes. It's not just the puppy they've planned in advance, there's something else. "What?" 

"We figured you could bring him with us," Red says, very gently, the way he explained to his daughter Stephanie that Reefer had been traded to the Leafs, which meant his daughter, Steph's best friend, would be moving away too. "We know it helps you, having Kit around, but you can't really bring her on the plane."

He's right: early on after Kit moved in with him, Kent took her onto the balcony to look at the sunset. She screamed like a banshee, tore up his shoulder climbing out of his arms, and has never set paw into the outside ever again. 

"Sure," Kent says slowly, knowing he's not getting it, but unable to figure out what he's supposed to be getting. "I don't – no-one travels with their pets." 

Red looks at Jeff again, though Jeff's still not looking at them. "He wouldn't have to be – maybe he wouldn't be just a pet. Like a, you know, like a support animal?"

"What, because I'm too fucked in the head to go out without something to look after me?" Kent's face is hot and his eyes are burning with tears, which maybe proves their point, but he's not – "Because I'm crazy now and I can't be let out of the house on my own?"

"Hey." He must have stood up, because Jeff's standing next to him, a hand on his arm, watching Kent all intense and sympathetic. "That's not what he meant, come on. You know we don't think you're crazy."

"You should." Fuck, Kent can't even handle seeing a bunch of little kid hockey players. How's he ever going to cope with even attending games, never mind playing in them.

"Well, we don't." Jeff tugs Kent back down and holds him close. Red, when Kent risks looking at him, smiles softly and makes an apologetic face.

"I meant," he says, shifting so he's close enough to touch Kent again, but not, "That we all know you're having a hard time leaving the apartment right now. Anyone would, after what happened to you. Swoops and I talked about it – you know, how it might help to have Kit with you."

"But even if you could," Jeff picks up, "We didn't think you'd want to." 

Like always, he's right. It'd be weird, and right after everything, it'd be too weird, invite too many questions about what was wrong with Kent that suddenly he's bringing his cat everywhere. He's been obsessed with Kit since he got her – it's too late now to start bringing her out, if she'd even come, which she wouldn't.

"We thought a dog might be easier. Especially a puppy, you know, there's the whole training thing, and everyone knows you can't leave a puppy home alone or it just destroys everything." Red's looking at him so earnestly that Kent almost wants to laugh. It'd be at best a cover story that people pretended to believe, between the timing and how often Kent's said he's a one pet guy, but there's something… Kent tries to imagine it, walking into the rink on game day with a small furry creature, something to focus on when he freaks out, or use as a distraction when there's too many people and he can't breathe.

"Have you got a picture?" he asks.

The puppy Red shows him is sitting on a patch of grass, looking intently at something beyond the camera. He's a tiny thing, black with floppy ears and white paws, a white steak down the middle of his too-serious expression. "He's cute," Kent says, unable to lie about it. 

"He's friendly, but really chill," Red says. "He already knows not to jump on the kids, but he practically purrs when they rub his ears, he loves it."

Kent looks at the picture again. He's sure Red has more, but Kent just wants to look at this one. The puppy's got one paw curled under his body, like he sat down funny, and Kent wants to reach out, uncurl it in case it's hurting. "Could I come and see him?" he asks, not looking up.

There's an awkward pause, and when Kent does look up, both Red and Jeff are avoiding meeting his eyes. "Please tell me you didn't leave a puppy tied up outside my building."

"Of course not," Red says, sounding way too offended for someone making the face he is. "I left him with Darren on the front-desk."

Kent rolls his eyes, doesn't even know why he's surprised. "Want to go get him?"

Jeff waits until the door's closed behind Red to ask, "Are you sure this is okay?"

Kent does him the courtesy of actually thinking about it. "Yeah. You're – I don't know if it'll help, but it's really – thank you for thinking of it, seriously."

Jeff doesn't say anything, just gives him a hug, like he knows that's exactly what Kent needs right then.

They've broken apart by the time Red comes back, Jeff in the kitchen making a pot of coffee, Kent tucked into the corner of the couch, waiting. Red's got the puppy in his arms, cradling him the way Kent used to carry Kit, before she got too big, the puppy's head resting in the crook of Red's elbow, his eyes darting around the room. "And this is Kent," Red says, bringing the puppy over. "We talked about him, remember, how you have to be nice so he'll maybe let you stay with him for a bit?"

The puppy doesn't answer, just tips his head slightly to one side and looks at Kent. Kent looks back, a little thrown by just _how_ calm the dog is, how quiet, then reaches out one hand. The puppy sniffs, nudges his wet nose against Kent's curled hand, then tips his head to the other side, obviously asking for ear rubs. Kent obliges – he's really soft, and warm.

"Want to hold him?" Red's already handing him over, helping Kent to settle the puppy in his lap, where he sniffs at Kent's cast, then curls into a donut and nudges Kent for more ear rubs. 

"Does he have a name?" Kent asks, just as Kit wanders out of the bedroom, her sixth sense keenly attuned to when there's something new in the apartment. She detours to rub against Jeff's ankles, then comes back to sit at Red's feet and wait for her customary petting. That's when she notices the puppy in Kent's lap.

Kent keeps very still, forcing himself not to tense up. The puppy either hasn't noticed Kit, or isn't bothered by her, and Kit herself doesn't seem entirely sure what to make of him. She creeps a little closer, neck stretched out until she's almost nose to nose with the puppy, her whiskers twitching. She sniffs the puppy, sniffs Kent's hand where it's curled around the puppy, twitches her nose, then takes a step closer and licks the puppy's head. The puppy makes a little noise, like the ghost of a bark, but doesn't move away, not even when Kit does it again.

"Kit," Red says quietly, like he doesn't want to break into the moment, "This is Ace. Ace, this is Kit. Sarah let the kids name the puppies," he adds in response to Kent's raised eyebrow. 

It could have been worse: DJ let his daughter Eve name their labradoodle puppy, and she picked Cuddles, which the Aces get endless amusement out of him having to shout at the dog park. 

Kent pets Ace, then rubs Kit's ears. "What do you think, Princess? Want a baby brother?"

Kit licks Kent's hand, then Ace's head, which Kent is pretty sure means yes.

*

Ace takes to following Kit everywhere, tripping over his own paws, trying to catch her tail and plopping down on his butt whenever she turns to glare at him. It's incredibly cute, which even Kit seems to agree with, tolerating her shadow except when he tries to get at her food, and even then, keeping her claws tucked in when she bops him on the nose for it.

"I thought cats and dogs were supposed to be enemies," Jeff says when he finds Kent sitting in the corner of the living room, Ace asleep with his head on Kit's shoulder while Kent strokes her head. Jeff's just showered, wearing sweats and an Aces T-shirt, his feet bare and his hair still damp. He sits cross-legged next to Kent, reaches over to stroke Ace's ears, his hand warm against Kent's.

Impulsively, Kent links their fingers together. Jeff doesn't say anything, just squeezes slightly. In the dim light of late evening, it's safe and warm and close, the way he felt to curl up on the couch with his grandparents and watch ice-dancing competitions as a kid. 

"Okay?" Jeff asks softly.

Kent nods. "You?"

Jeff leans in and kisses the side of Kent's head. "You know I love you," he says, like that's an answer. 

Maybe it is. They're not, the two of them, exactly friends or lovers or boyfriends, somewhere between the three, but Jeff is probably the love of Kent's life, the guy he wants to have around forever, who he can care for and feel safe with the way he never quite could with Jack. "You too," he says, really quiet.

Kit chooses that moment to meow at them for the terrible crime of stopping petting her, which makes Ace bark and twitch in his sleep. Kit gives Kent the filthiest look in response, then turns and licks at Ace's head until he settles back down.

Kent can't resist retrieving his good hand and taking a picture of the two of them. He's got Instagram open before he really thinks about it. 

"Kent," Jeff says.

Kent blinks, freezes – remembers why he hasn't been doing this. He knows he ought to close out the app, at least talk to Maggie instead of going back onto social media like nothing happened, especially with the article coming.

But people are going to be talking about him, about one of the worst things that ever happened to him, and there's something deeply appealing in having this one normal thing in amongst that.

"You know it's your decision," Jeff says, doing that freaky mind-reading thing he does with Kent sometimes, or maybe just filling Kent's silence.

Kent tips his phone so Jeff can watch as he captions the picture, _Welcome to Ace, the newest member of the Parson/Purrson family_. The edge of Jeff's bare foot is just visible in the corner, Ace tucked in against Kit's fur with his eyes closed. It's a good picture, a good moment.

Kent hits post. 

It's barely a minute before his phone buzzes with a notification that someone's liked his picture, then a comment notification.

"Uh-uh," Jeff says firmly. He takes the phone out of Kent's hand and turns it off. "Don't read the comments."

"Right." It's become a mantra since the video, one that Kent knows he'll be repeating even more when the article comes out. He hesitates, tries out the words in his head. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Jeff's still holding his hand, squeezes it again. "Of course," he says, just that easy, and Kent knows Jeff understands, the way that having someone right there in the night feels, for the first time since it all happened, like something he wants more than he's scared of it.

*

Kent still wakes up in the middle of the night, his throat tight and his broken hand aching. Jeff's rolled away in his sleep, is snoring softly with his back to Kent. Kent lies on his back, taking deep breaths, for as long as he can before he has to move, the darkness pressing in close and unnerving. 

Kit and Ace are still asleep in the corner of the living room, though Kit picks up her head to look at Kent when he curls up on the couch. "Don't get up," Kent tells her, distantly amused when she closes her eyes in response to that.

His phone's sitting on the arm of the couch, the screen too bright when he turns it on. He's only going to skim his emails, check there's nothing from Maggie in response to the photo, but as he scrolls through, he sees a notification that @omgcheckplease commented on his post.

It's stupid to look. 

_@kentparson90 he's adorable! I'm finding a recipe for dog biscuits as we speak!_

"No." His own voice sounds too loud in the dark apartment, but this is it, this is all Kent can handle.

Jack, for reasons that Kent's never understood, hasn't changed his cell number since the Q, and Kent, for reasons that he understands too well, has never deleted it. He opens up his message box. _Please tell your boyfriend to stop sending me food._

It takes him three tries to get the message down, his hand shaking with it.

He physically startles when his phone buzzes with a response, checks the time to realize that it's late enough in Providence for Jack to be awake, even in the off-season. _He wants to help._

The deep breath Kent takes in response to that sounds too much like a sob. He waits, but there's nothing else. 

_I don't want his help,_ he types out carefully, letting auto-correct put in all the punctuation he doesn't usually bother with. _He's not my friend. He can't make it better with pie. I want him to leave me alone._

He's very aware of the irony of him saying that to Jack, when it took him years to stop acting like Jack didn't mean it when he told Kent to go away. He'd deserve it if Jack told him no, or, hell, told Bittle to keep sending stuff to Kent or gave him Kent's phone number or something. 

_I think he feels guilty for what happened to you_.

Kent presses his face into his knees, ignoring the lingering ache in his ribs, his breath catching and his eyes burning. He knows he should say that it's not Bittle's fault, or Jack's, knows it isn't, but… But he feels broken and ashamed, knows it's going to get so much worse before he can play again and start to make it so that people remember he's an NHL super-star, not just a victim, and he hates that Bittle and Jack got everything they wanted and Kent just got hurt. 

_Tell him to leave me alone. No pie, no dog biscuits, no Twitter comments. I want him to leave me alone_.

Nothing. Kent drops his phone onto the couch, curls tighter into himself, tries to cry quietly enough that he won't wake Jeff up. He hates this, hates that he was just thinking about how much he loves Jeff and now a few words by text from Jack have messed him up as much as they ever have.

He's not sure how long he's been sitting there when the couch dips and a little furry body curls up against his hip. "Sorry." Kent reaches down to pet Kit, who always comes when he's upset. Except that he has to reach down too far, and the fur his hand lands on isn't Kit's.

Kit, when Kent looks up, is still curled up on the other side of the room, just watching Kent. She mrrs when she catches him looking at her, makes the same motion she does when she rubs her cheek against his hand. 

Kent smiles back at her, keeps petting Ace who, from the sounds of his breathing, has gone back to sleep. It's just as soothing as petting Kit has always been, lulling Kent down into the sleep he desperately needs.

When he wakes up to Jeff wanting to know why he slept on the couch when he has several perfectly good beds, there's a message from Jack: _I'll tell him,_ it says, and then, like an after-thought, or like something Jack wasn't sure he ought to send, _I'm sorry_.

*

The morning the article comes out, Ruth knocks on the apartment door while Kent's still wearing the old sweatpants that double as pajamas, and drinking coffee. "Hey, kiddo," she says, ruffling Kent's hair as she steps around him into the apartment. "Hello, babies," she adds, reaching down to pet Kit and Ace.

"Everything okay?" She's dressed for work, carrying a thin laptop with a smart bag over her shoulder. Kent's very conscious of the shower running, even though Ruth's never asked about him and Jeff. "Do you want some coffee?"

Ruth sets her laptop and bag down on the breakfast bar and comes back to hug Kent. "I'm going to work here, unless that's an issue for you." Kent shakes his head on auto-pilot. Ruth smiles, ruffles his hair again. "Jeff said he had to go into work today, so I'm here to keep an eye on you."

"You mean, to look after me," Kent says, not sure if he's insulted or not. Maggie, anticipating both a desire from the media to talk to members of the team and Kent's intense desire to not have to answer a bunch more questions, drafted Jeff, Red, and Jax into being available at the rink for interviews. Which Kent is really, really grateful for, but at the same time… 

"Do you know how much work I have to do today?" Ruth's already flipping open her laptop and helping herself to a cup of coffee. "I'm here because I'm hoping you'll feed me." She's smiling though, obviously teasing, and Kent knows how hard she works, how much it means that she's giving up her routine to work at his place.

"I'm making toaster waffles and strawberries," he tells her.

Jeff wanders into the kitchen, dressed in his media day suit, just as Kent's slicing the last of the strawberries and sneaking one to Kit, who bops Ace on the nose when he sniffs at it. "Leave her alone," Kent warns the puppy, nudging him gently away. Ace might be cute, but Kit is his princess.

Jeff, though, is definitely a dog person, and scoops Ace up, cuddling him on his shoulder as he hugs Kent from behind and kisses the back of his neck. "Ruth doesn't mind that you're half-naked?"

Ruth doesn't even look up from where she's rapid-fire typing.

"I don't think she's noticed," Kent says truthfully.

"Go take a shower anyway," Jeff says, pushing Kent towards the bathroom. "I think I can handle toaster waffles and strawberries without you."

Kent stands in front of his closet, still damp, for way too long. He can't remember the last time Jeff was in his media suit and Kent wasn't, but Ruth's sense of industry makes it feel wrong to kick around in basketball shorts and an Aces T-shirt. He's entirely certain, though, that one of them will come looking for him if he takes too long, so in the end, he puts on jeans and a Nike shirt, his go-to off-day outfit when he's expecting to be recognized.

Jeff raises an eyebrow at the outfit, but doesn't say anything, just hands Kent another cup of coffee and eats breakfast next to him on the couch while Ruth works, only pausing occasionally to pet Kit. 

Kent does his best not to freak out when Jeff finds his keys and puts his shoes on, and Jeff doesn't say anything about how tightly Kent hugs him saying goodbye. "I'll call at lunch," Jeff says. "No social media, no TV, promise me."

"Promise." Ruth already had his phone when he got back from showering, which is probably a good idea. Even if part of Kent does want to know what Mary-Beth had to say about him.

"Let the man go to work," Ruth calls, not even pausing in her typing, and Kent laughs a little, releases Jeff and steps back. 

"Have good day, dear," he says.

Jeff leans in to kiss his cheek, real quick. "See you tonight, sweetheart."

The problem, Kent quickly realizes, with having Ruth in the kitchen, is that he feels bad mindlessly surfing through the million TV channels he has, like he's disturbing her, even though she's hyper-focused on her laptop. It's probably part of why she's there, to keep him from giving in to temptation and switching over to ESPN to see what they're saying. He watches an episode of Top Chef, even though it's in the middle of a season and he doesn't know who any of the chefs are, cares even less about them. Ten minutes into the next episode, he's already forgotten who they all are and why two of the guys apparently hate each other. He turns off the TV, pokes through his, honestly fairly limited, selection of books, all of which he's read before, none of which he wants to read again, then fetches Kit to give her a seriously thorough going over with her favorite Fur Magic glove, then makes a cup of tea since he's pretty sure he doesn't need any more coffee.

When he realizes he's thinking about asking Ruth if she has some filing he can do – which she clearly doesn't; her bag apparently contains a single notepad, her laptop charger, and three pens – he admits to himself that he's going stir-crazy, made worse by how Kit and Ace have both started following him around the apartment.

"Ruth?" 

She holds up a finger, types one-handed for a minute, then clicks decisively on her mouse and looks over. "What's up, kiddo?"

"Do you want to maybe take a break and go for a walk?" Kent asks, quiet the way he used to be when he needed to interrupt his grandad for help with his math homework. "Just down the street and back, so I can take Ace out?"

Ruth looks at him, like she's trying to read his mind or something, but she doesn't ask why Kent can't go on his own. Well, she's spending the day working from his apartment, she probably knows. "Sure," she says. "Does he have a leash?"

Darren on the front desk looks up when they step out of the elevator, sees Ace, and comes round the desk to pet him. Ace, shameless flirt that he is, gets his paws on Darren's knees and does his weird growly-bark thing that Jeff says is definitely him trying to imitate Kit's purr.

"Saw your article," Darren says, still rubbing Ace's ears, and Kent's frozen before he even registers the words.

"Oh, no," Ruth says lightly. She twitches Ace's leash, just enough for him to come and sit on Kent's right foot. "Kent and I have an agreement, no hockey talk while he's with me, not unless he wants to learn about the intricacies of financial auditing."

Kent actually wouldn't mind learning more about what Ruth does – or anything about what she does, he knows nothing except her job title and that it normally means she's away from Vegas two weeks out of every four – but it doesn't matter, Darren's already laughing and saying something about how he wouldn't want to get in the middle of that, and then they're outside, Ruth easily shifting so that she's between Kent and the handful of people walking down the street, Ace trotting just in front of them and already trying to sniff everything in his path.

"Thanks," Kent says quietly.

Ruth doesn't say anything, just links her arm through Kent's and tugs Ace gently away from a discarded burger wrapper.

*

Kent expects the trip out to be worse, with how anxious the article is already making him, but maybe he's hit maximum anxiety or something, because he actually gets distracted, listening to Ruth talk about the hotel she's been booked into for her next work trip, three weeks in LA. It's enough that he makes it out on his own that afternoon with Ace – just for ten minutes and he's really relieved to get back inside, but he makes it – and then again when Jeff gets back, all the way to the frozen yogurt place that Ruth and Maud really like, to buy blueberry fro-yo to say thanks to Ruth.

They don't talk about the article, or Jeff's day, and it's relaxing, almost, enough that Kent forgets, just for a few minutes, about the article and the attack, all of it.

*

Snowy texts _doing ok? thinking of u_ the way he still is every day, and then, _good article. shes all good about you and zimboni_.

Kent still hasn't read it, is pretty sure he never will, despite both Jeff and Red assuring him that it's a good article, supportive of queer people in hockey, condemning both the attack and homophobia in hockey more generally, with a sidebar interview with Julie Chu and Meghan Duggan about what men's hockey can learn from women's.

Impulsively, he takes a quick photo of Kit grooming Ace's soft ears and sends it to Snowy.

There's the kind of pause that suggests Snowy's surprised he finally got a response, which is probably fair, given that he's been texting into the void for weeks now. Then a message flashes up, just _cute_.

It sounds like a brush-off. Kent's still blinking at the message, unsure what to do next, when another message comes through: _saw him on insta. bring him 2 rink when were in vegas_ , and then, _ur playing then right?_

They're hosting the Falconers in early December, and the doctors seem pretty confident that Kent will be playing by then. The thought of it – travelling, the rink, being on the ice in front of a crowd of strangers with no idea whether the people who hurt him are watching, and no way of knowing if they are… It makes his heart race and his breath catch with panic that he hasn't felt since he found Jack passed out on a bathroom floor.

 _yeah_ he texts back. It's not like he's got a choice; he's not qualified to do anything except play hockey and anyway, he really doesn't want to give it up. He just wants it to be easy again, and can't figure out how he's going to get there. Much as he loves Ace, and Red and Jeff for thinking of him, he's not sure a dog is going to be enough to cut through the fear.

 _be good to see u all_ Snowy texts back, and then, _thinking of u_ , like always.

Kent takes a quick picture of Kit, curled up in his lap with her paw over her eyes while they wait for Jeff to bring Red back for lunch after morning workout. She opens one eye to look at him, purrs a little when he rubs at her ears. "You're still my favorite," Kent tells her softly. Ace, for once, isn't hanging on Kit's every purr and meow, though Kent's not sure where the puppy wandered off to while he was texting with Snowy. "Yes, you're the most beautiful princess, aren't you?"

He opens up Instagram, carefully not looking at anything on his feed as he starts a new post. He's distracted for a moment by a flash of something through the window; sunlight against a window that's just opened in the opposite block, he sees when he looks closer. Kent takes a deep breath, watches it for a long moment. Nothing happens, except that Kit sticks her claws gently into Kent's leg when he doesn't immediately start petting her again.

"Sorry, baby." Kent looks down at his phone again, taps through to the new photo of Kit and tags it #princess.

"Aren't you, sweetheart?" Kent pets her ears some more as he checks the window once more, taking a deep breath when he sees it's closed again.

*

"So," Jeff says, settling carefully on the couch next to Kent and giving Ace a minute to wriggle into a position where he can both lean into Kit and put his head on Jeff's lap. Kent, recognizing the way Jeff said _so_ , takes the opportunity to press pause on the opening credits of the latest Avengers movie – what he gets for letting Jeff pick the movie, when the man's got a lifelong obsession with superheroes. Kent's not that interested unless the Winter Soldier's in it, mostly because the guy who plays him is super-hot, even with a metal arm, but Jeff won't care if Kent falls asleep on his shoulder partway through.

"So?" he prompts when Jeff gets distracted petting Ace, who's still adjusting to Jeff leaving the apartment every day.

"I wasn't sure if I should tell you this or not," Jeff says, glancing over at Kent but not quite making eye contact, "But I figured you're back on Instagram a bit, and it's better if you hear from me than stumble on it."

"That sounds kind of bad." Kent's still only really posting pictures, not checking his feed, but he catches the odd post anyway, enough to know that, even after the better part of a week, people are still talking about him and the attack, homophobia in hockey and what the NHL might do about it.

"It's not," Jeff says firmly. "It's just – Zimmermann and his dad did a video about all this. I wasn't sure if you'd want to watch it or not."

Jack and Bob made a statement after the video of Kent's attack got released, like a lot of current and ex-players, but as far as Kent knows, that's all he's said about the attack or about how he came out on the ice at the Stanley Cup final. It's not like he's surprised that Jack's done something, he just… doesn't know how he feels about it.

"Did you watch it?"

Jeff hesitates, then nods. "It's good. He's – he says good things, they both do."

It's stupid to want to know what Jack says – stupid for it to matter, still – but he does. "You'll stay?"

Jeff bumps his head gently against Kent's shoulder. "You know I will." 

The video's filmed in the snug in Alicia and Bob's house in Montreal, Jack and Bob side-by-side on the couch. Bob's wearing Kent's jersey from when he first became captain of the Aces and Jack's wearing his old red and white Samwell captain's jersey. It's not what Kent was expecting, especially Jack, when he's got an NHL jersey with an A on it, but it makes a certain kind of sense – a reminder of where Jack met Bittle, maybe, or of somewhere that it's already safe to be queer and play hockey.

Kent doesn't really listen to what they're saying – Bob's telling stories from Kent and Jack's time in the Q, Jack's talking about how it felt to play on teams that accepted him, in college and after – focusing instead on Jack. He looks relaxed, leaning back into the couch, close enough for Bob to ruffle his hair when – oh, he's talking about how Jack fell over his own feet when Bob introduced him to Hayley Wickenheiser. Jack just grins, so clearly unbothered by the teasing that Kent's heart hurts a little. He's only ever seen Jack look like that once before, on his last disastrous visit to Samwell, before Jack knew Kent was there. Even after all this, he still wants to make Jack look like that – wants to have been able to make Jack look like that, back when they were two lost kids trying not to think about how they were about to be sent to opposite sides of the country to play against each other and never see each other. 

"Should I turn it off?" Jeff asks quietly.

Kent blinks, tears blurring everything for a moment, and shakes his head. "Do you think we'd be different if we'd gone to college?"

Jeff almost went, got accepted to University of Toronto but decided to go to the draft instead. Kent never even thought about college, determined to make it to the NHL before he even started high school. He loves his life, most of the time, loves the Aces, even if he doesn't love all of the individual players, loves playing hockey, loves living in Vegas and being the captain of a Stanley Cup winning team. It's just, looking at Jack, that he can't help thinking about things he doesn't love, the way he's always known he'll have to keep his sexuality secret, always be risking something by trusting the people he tells. He's never wanted to come out publicly, still doesn't, but there's something in how relaxed Jack looks, talking about checking practice with Bittle like it wouldn't have been inconceivable a few months ago, that Kent can't imagine ever feeling, not even if he did come out. 

"Yes," Jeff says, still quiet. "But I think we're pretty good how we are." He says it lightly, but he presses close to Kent as he does, warm and comforting and solid, and sure, maybe they'd still be Aces and best friends and partners, if they'd gone to college rather than the draft, but Jeff's not wrong that they'd be different and even now, there's a big part of Kent that doesn't want to think about how different might be worse.

*

That night, in his own bed and unable to sleep, Kent plays the video again, curled on his side with Kit asleep on his hip and Ace tucked around his head and blinking at the screen like he can understand it. Kent closes his eyes, just listens to the sounds of Jack's and Bob's voices, the way he listened to Jeff's soft snoring when they were sharing a bed. It feels like their last year in the Q, when they'd sneak into each other's beds at night and whisper to each other about the NHL, which team might get the first pick and which of them that team would take. 

Buried under the covers, with Jeff right next door, the memory's almost comforting.

The next video starts, Kelly Clarkson singing about how life would suck without you. Kent opens his eyes to read the title page: Why We're Gr8ful For Curtis Redman. There's a clip of Red getting drafted to the Predators, highlights from his time with them, then the Aces' draft, Red grinning as he puts on the new jersey. The music cuts out in favor of Red, still in his new jersey, talking about how excited he is to be part of an expansion team, how much he loves Vegas. More music follows, more clips – a brief one of Kent and Red bumping helmets after Kent's first NHL goal, another of Red tipping champagne into the Stanley Cup, their first one, a whole run of clips of Red with kids… Kent closes his eyes, listens to the music and Red's voice talking about how he loves the Aces, his work with You Can Play, his on-going involvement in the charity Wilson set up for young Black hockey players, how much he loves his kids and hockey.

Kent's halfway asleep when he realizes there's a different voice talking, two men with New York accents whose voices he doesn't recognize. When he focuses, they're talking about him, when people might expect to see him playing again, whether the Aces will be without him all the way up to Christmas.

He props himself up on one elbow, careful not to disturb Kit or Ace, picks up the phone, unsure if he wants to keep listening or turn it off. The two guys talking are sitting in front of a bright red logo that he doesn't recognize, the words half-obscured by their heads so all he can see is a hockey stick. There's an obviously non-professional air to the whole thing, not even the kind of semi-pro style that he's used to from some of the more popular basement YouTube hockey commenters. 

"So, what do we think?" the one on the right – they're both white guys, brunettes, maybe brothers or cousins – asks. The headline of Mary-Beth's article on the attack flashes on the screen for a moment. "She's very careful not to say one way or the other."

Kent must have missed some of the context for the question. 

The other presenter tilts his head like he's thinking. "On the one hand, if he's straight, you'd think he'd say. But on the other, nothing's normal in the NHL right now, so maybe he's been told not to."

It's not the first time someone's speculated on Kent's sexuality, and he usually just ignores it. He hesitates, ready to close out the video but waiting to see what they're going to say.

"I mean," the first guy says, "You've got to wonder why they picked him. You know? Of all the hockey players in all the world…"

The second guy laughs. "Well, it's not like you'd want to take on Chara or someone – even with a bunch of friends."

"Sure," the first guy says, obviously doubtful, "But, let's be honest, how late it was, where he was – I'm not saying he came on to the wrong guy, but –"

Kent's closed out the video before he really thinks about it. "Hell, no," he says, loud enough that Kit wakes up to glare at him. "Sorry, Princess."

He pets her calm again, tucks his head back down in the curve of Ace's little puppy body. He wonders where the two guys were going with that whole thing. He's not fool enough to think people don't have an opinion on whether the attack is more awful if he's straight because he got attacked for nothing, or more awful if he's gay because then it's real homophobia, or less awful if he's straight because – he doesn't even know with that one, really, but it seems to have something to do with straight people knowing what it feels like to be gay and afraid of what'll happen to them, which Kent privately thinks is a horrifying way to think about something that he wouldn't wish on anyone, not even on the people who hurt him.

"People are shit," he tells Ace, since Kit's gone back to sleep. Ace snuffles at his hair a little, which Kent takes as agreement, even though, when he checks, Ace's eyes are closed too.

In the morning, he checks his YouTube history for the name of the channel, and emails Maggie to ask her to put the presenters on the no-interview list with the Aces.

*

A week or so before the end of the kids' hockey camp, Kent's just gotten home from the second check on his recently uncasted hand and wrist, accompanied to this one by the Aces' team doctor, when his phone starts ringing. He's not really expecting Jax to be the one calling, but Maggie's been asking about Kent coming by for the end of the camp, he probably should have expected that she'd eventually get Jax on the case as well.

Jax says, "Hi," when Kent answers, then goes quiet for long enough that Kent checks the call hasn't cut-off. 

"Everything okay?" he asks, settling carefully into the couch – the doctor really put him through his paces, and his whole arm aches, fingertips to still-recovering shoulder. 

"Um," Jax says, then, "Sorry, are you busy?" like it only just occurred to him.

"Definitely not." Jax is obviously nervous about something, enough so that Kent would make time even if he did have more plans than heating up last night's pasta for lunch.

"Okay. Good. Great. Um… Can I – if I emailed you something, could you read it?"

"Sure," Kent says slowly. It's pretty far from anything he would have imagined Jax – or anyone – wanting from him, particularly when Pins has a degree in English and American literature.

"I sent it," Jax says, before Kent can ask. "Um. Could you read it now?"

"Sure," Kent says again, really confused as he grabs his tablet from the end table and opens up his email. There's no subject line, and the only thing in the body of the email is a link to a google document. "It's not your resignation letter, is it?" he asks as the page loads.

"I hope not," Jax says, right as the page loads and Kent reads _This is how I come out_ , set in the middle of the page and obviously a title.

"Shit," he says softly. It's an article, no question what it's intended to do, even as he skims the first couple of paragraphs: _… The other boys on my team talked about girls but I didn't care about them. I liked boys. And in the locker room, on the ice, that was not something I could say… I can't keep my mouth shut anymore._ "Are you – " He's got too many questions, what Jax is planning to do with the article, whether Maggie and the Aces' management know, what Jax is thinking, is he sure…

Jax's rapid breathing in his ear jolts Kent into the more important thing. "I didn't know you were gay," he says stupidly.

"That was sort of the point." Jax laughs, tense. "No-one was supposed to know."

"I get that." Kent takes a breath, purposely doesn't let himself add anything to take it back, not even sure if Jax will know what he means. "This is a big step – are you sure about this?"

Jax just breathes for a moment, a little strained. "I never wanted to be the first," he says eventually, "But I always wanted to. Someone's got to go second, right?"

"It doesn't have to be you." Not that it's escaped Kent's notice how plenty of people have said supportive things about Zimms but no-one's chosen to join him. Kent himself included.

"I want it to be," Jax says firmly. "I mean – I know we're not the only ones, and it's kind of – with everything, um, with Zimmermann, you know, it's not –" He takes a deep breath, crackling in Kent's ear. "I know there's going to be media and stuff, but I'm way less interesting than he is, for hockey fans."

"There's going to be a lot of media," Kent tells him, instead of asking what Jax means by _we_.

"I talked to Maggie already," Jax says. "She's got a plan, she's in charge of timing and everything. The Players' Tribune are posting the article, I already talked to them, and You Can Play. I think, you know, it'll be okay."

He sounds nervous, and underneath it, really certain, really sure. It's not what Kent normally associates with Jax, who's still so young, and maybe that's what makes Kent open his mouth. "You're not the only one," he says, unsure quite how to say it. "On the Aces."

"Okay," Jax says quietly. "I don't… Know what that means."

Kent's pretty sure he does, or at least can guess. He still doesn't want to come out publicly himself, but it feels cruel to leave Jax hanging, not just because he's young and needs the support, but because Jax gave up his summer to step in for Kent with the hockey kids, and maybe Kent wants to pay him back, even if he knows neither Jax nor Khatri would think of it like that. "I'm gay," he says, feeling vaguely foolish at how abrupt it sounds. "So, you're not the only one on the Aces, and I've got your back."

"Is that –" Jax cuts himself off before what Kent belatedly realizes probably would have been a question about the attack. "Um, thanks for telling me. I won't tell anyone else."

"Swoops and Red know. It's not a secret, I'm just not really telling everyone."

"Oh." Kent's pretty sure Jax is blushing. "Well, thanks for telling me, then."

"You said that already," Kent tells him, trying not to laugh. "Do you need anything from me?"

"I'm good. Maggie said to get you to call her once I told you." Yeah, Kent's got some kind of media thing in his future about this; he just hopes Maggie keeps it brief. 

He thinks about running into Jax at the rink, how excited he got when he asked Kent to visit with the kids. It's just as scary a thought as it was then, but Jax is doing something scary, and so did Zimms, in his way. And going back to the rink, being there for training camp with the new draft picks, for the start of the pre-season even if he's not playing, isn't going to be any less scary. "I'd like to come by for the last day of the camp," he says, before he can change his mind. "Maybe the kids would like to meet Ace?"

"Yes!" Kent hears someone laugh in the background of the call, under Jax's excited cheer. "Yes, for sure, the kids would be super-excited!"

"Just the kids, huh?" Kent says, laughing a little himself and feeling, just for a minute, not quite as scared.

*

Maud sends a postcard from LA, where she's tagged along on Ruth's business trip. It's a picture of the sun setting over the ocean, and she's written, _Having a great time, miss you and Kit. Hope you're taking care of each other_ , Ruth's name scribbled next to hers at the bottom of the card.

Kent sticks it to the fridge, underneath a photo of Red and his kids next to a camp fire, and a postcard from the Troys that Jeff brought over last time he stopped by his own apartment. 

"We never got our vacation," Kent says, wandering back into the living room, where Jeff's got the TV paused on a football game while he dangles a ribbon for Kit. Neither she nor Ace look interested; she's sprawled out in a sunspot, and Ace is taking his life into his paws by stalking and attacking her tail.

Jeff takes the Gatorade Kent offers – he volunteered to take Ace out for a run rather than a walk, and still looks a bit out of breath, even after a shower. "We've had other things to worry about."

Kent shrugs, settling in next to Jeff. Tomorrow's the last day of the hockey camp, which Kent's visiting right before lunch, with Red and Jeff tagging along. Jax's article came out on the weekend, and between that and Kent visiting the camp, Maggie insisted that the press had to be let in, so neither Red nor Jeff really listened when Kent said they didn't need to come along. Which is probably fair, even if he is getting better at being in public places. 

"I was kind of looking forward to it." They talked a lot about where they might go, though they never actually made a decision, and Kent loves being able to run away from Vegas for a couple of weeks, chilling on a beach and drinking brilliantly colored cocktails.

Jeff hums a little, starting the game back up with the sound turned right down. Kent tips his head back and closes his eyes, not interested in football, thinking about the schedule for the next few weeks. There's not a lot of free time, with training camp starting up in a little over a week, and all the off-ice responsibilities that Kent has as captain – definitely not enough time to go far.

"How about Cabo?" Jeff says. "Spend a couple of days on the beach, fly back in time for the start of camp."

Kent's done a few trips down to Mexico with friends from the Aces, including a week of diving in Cabo. He mostly remembers the warmth of the ocean and the great food. "Yeah," he says, eyes still closed, picturing it. "That sounds really good."

*

Well aware of how easily the kids can get distracted, Kent and Ace wait in the locker room to be summoned out. Kent's dressed down, in jeans and an Aces jersey, but it still feels weird to be in the locker room without his skates on. It feels weird to be in the locker room at all, knowing there's people waiting for him, even if they don't know it. Knowing there's media in the rink, that they'll be filming him talking to the kids and dissecting what he says. At least they won't be allowed to ask questions – both Jeff and Red are heartily sick of being ambushed outside the training facility and asked how they feel about Jax coming out. Apparently, _proud of him for doing what's right for him, and excited to start the new season_ isn't supplying the drama the media were hoping for. Even Carl's keeping his mouth shut, for once.

For what has to be the tenth time since they sat down, Ace uncurls from his little ball in Kent's lap and puts his front paws on Kent's chest. It's about as high as he can reach, not quite close enough to lick Kent's chin unless Kent tips his head down. Which he does – like Kit, Kent really can't say no to that face.

"Now that is a level of cuteness that just shouldn't be allowed."

Kent looks up to find Khatri standing in the open doorway, smiling all soft and warm like he does in the Capitals' promo pictures, the ones that have gotten him listed in hockey's top ten heartthrobs two years running. 

"Blame Red for the shirt," Kent tells him. Which Red bought, though Kent's the one who wrestled Ace into the tiny Aces shirt. The Instagram hits made the whole thing almost worth it, and Kent's already trying to figure out how he can get Kit into her own Aces shirt. "Here to collect me?"

Khatri nods, but doesn't move when Kent joins him by the doorway, Ace nestled back in Kent's arms. "Hey," Khatri says, voice low and expression serious, "Just so you know, Lucas didn't do the article for you."

"I didn't think he did," Kent says honestly. It never even crossed his mind and even now Khatri's suggested it, he can't imagine any way in which a team-mate coming out would help with the gossip about Kent and the attack. "I figured he did it for himself."

Khatri looks both ways along the empty corridor. "And for me," he says, very quietly. 

It makes sense. Jax asked if he could tell Khatri about Kent being gay, promised he was trustworthy, which Kent mostly put down to the two of them having played together since they were kids. But Khatri's one of only two Indian players in the whole NHL, with all the grief that comes with that, still a young player, still watching, like all of them, to see how the NHL is going to change with openly queer players on the rosters. 

"He's a good friend," Kent says, just as quiet. "And thank you for telling me."

Khatri just looks at him for a long moment, not worried, just looking. Whatever he's looking for, he must find it, because he smiles, pets Ace's ears, and says, "Let's go, before the kids combust from excitement."

The kids have been told that Kent's still recovering so they have to be careful around him, but it's still intense, stepping onto the ice and having thirty pre-teens immediately skate towards you.

Jax blows his whistle before even the fastest one gets too close. "No mobs! Mobs don't get to play with the puppy!"

It works surprisingly well, apart from a couple of the youngest kids falling over instead of coming to a stop. The coaches pick them up while Kent's saying hi, checking in with the kids he remembers from previous years and getting names from the new ones. It's almost enough for him to forget about the cameras, at least until he's sitting on a folding chair set-up on the face-off dot, Ace curled in his lap and the kids mostly cross-legged on the ice. Jax and Khatri are standing at the back of the group, between Kent and the media, and as Kent looks up, a couple of the other coaches join them. Maggie will be annoyed at them disrupting the camera lines on him, he's pretty sure, but it makes him breathe easier, especially knowing Red and Jeff are sitting on the benches behind him.

"So, how's camp going?" he asks, and gets a babble of happy but indistinguishable chatter in response. "Sounds like you haven't been missing me at all."

That gets a shouted chorus of denial that makes Jax fake a wounded expression.

"Well, I missed you all," Kent tells them, "So it's good to be able to see you now." It's almost true, if he doesn't think too hard about it. "Lucas said some of you wanted to meet my new puppy, Ace."

Ace lifts his head up in response to his name, which makes most of the kids go, "Aww."

Kent didn't really plan this part out, so he says, "Did you guys known that Curtis Redman gave him to me?" The kids all shake their heads, except for one, a dark-skinned girl who looks about ten and is too busy trying to inch closer to Ace without anyone noticing her. "He knew that I was having a hard time going out on my own, so he found Ace, to help me feel better about it."

"Cause he's your best friend!" a blond, eight-year-old calls.

Dylan, the boy sitting next to him who's been to the last three camps, immediately glares at him. "No! Everyone knows Jeff Troy's Kent's best friend." He doesn't say 'duh', but it's heavily implied.

"Maybe they're both my best friends," Kent suggests, and it almost doesn't hurt to think about how he used to call Jack that.

"Nuh-uh," the first boy says. "You can only have one best friend, everyone knows that."

"Everyone?" Kent turns to look at Red and Jeff, who are doing a good job of pretending they're not laughing. "Did you guys know only one of you can be my best friend?"

"Well, if that's true, then it's obviously me." Red hops the boards as he says it, sliding in his running shoes to Kent's side. "Giving someone a puppy has to make you their best friend, right? And Kent lived with me for two years when he first came to Vegas."

"Excuse you," Jeff says, following Red over. Kent's a little curious to know what he's going to say, since Jeff can't really cite the fact that, until very recently, he and Kent thought they were the only queer guys on the Aces. "I think assisting on Parse's Stanley Cup winning goal should count for something."

Red tilts one hand from side to side, looking at the kids. "A puppy or a Stanley Cup?" he asks, making the kids laugh and shout their opinions.

Under all their noise, the girl who's been inching ever closer and is now almost leaning against Kent's leg, softly asks, "Does he really make you feel better?" She's got her hands folded in her lap, though her eyes are intent on Ace, who's watching her back just as intently.

"What's your name?" Kent asks. He can't remember seeing her in the videos that Jax and Khatri sent, and doesn't recognize her from previous camps. 

"Layla," she says, still quiet. Red, probably noticing the moment Kent's having with her, says something to the kids about deciding Kent's best friend on the basis of some sort of puck challenge, drawing them and their attention away slightly. 

Kent lowers himself onto the ice, immediately feeling the chill through his jeans. He's going to struggle to get up with only one fully working arm, but it seems like the right place to be. "Yeah," he says, stroking one hand down Ace's back. "He does make me feel better about going out. He gives me something else to think about, and he reminds me that my friend wants to help me."

Layla nods solemnly, still watching Ace.

"Do you want to hold him? Or pet him?"

Layla holds her left hand out for Ace to sniff, then strokes the top of his head. "He's really cute," she says. 

"Yeah. Curtis picked him well, huh?"

Layla doesn't answer, just strokes Ace and doesn't look at Kent. He's not sure what to do – the kids at other camps have told him stuff, mostly kid secrets about best friends and other kids they have a crush on, but this doesn't feel like that. He's just starting to think that nothing's going on except that she wanted to pet the dog and is maybe shy, when she says, "My sister doesn't like going out either. People say bad things to her, because of her girlfriend."

Kent's breath catches. "I'm sorry to hear that," he says.

Layla keeps petting Ace. "Her girlfriend's really nice. She comes over to our house sometimes, now my sister doesn't want to go outside anymore. She was going to look after me for the summer, but I had to come to hockey camp instead."

The only things Kent can think to say are about whether she's enjoyed camp, whether her sister's gotten any better, and neither one seems like the right thing. 

"I showed her a picture of Ace," Layla continues. "She likes cats better, like Kit, but she said Ace was cute for a dog."

"I like cats better, too," Kent says. Layla covers Ace's ears, so he obligingly adds, "But Ace is a very cute dog."

"Maybe my sister could get a dog too." Layla finally looks up at Kent, her earlier intensity fading. He has to bite his tongue against the urge to tell her she can take Ace for her sister, when he has no idea whether her sister needs or wants a dog, or, if she does, what kind of dog she wants. 

"I bet she could," he says instead. "Is someone picking you up later?" She nods, and Kent says, "Get them to talk to Lucas – he can give them my number to pass on to your sister, if I can help."

Layla grins, her whole face brightening, and sort of hugs Kent's arm, careful not to crush Ace as she does it.

"Do you want to take Ace to play with the others for a while?" he asks when she lets go. She does, of course, skating off with Ace slipping along behind her. She's good, steady and fast, and her stop is neat and clean.

It doesn't take long for Red to come over, helping Kent up without saying anything, and holding onto his arm for a moment after Kent's on his feet. "Doing okay?" he asks.

Kent can feel the cameras pointing at him, but at the same time, Layla's passing a puck with two other girls, both about her age, all three of them laughing as Ace tries to catch the puck and falls over his own feet. Kent makes a mental note to arrange for a signed jersey to be sent to her after the camp, as well as giving his details to her family – he knows Red's neighbor will be able to recommend someone, if her sister does want a dog. Jeff, Jax and Khatri are in the middle of the crowd of kids, Red's standing right next to him, and yeah, the start of the season still feels more frightening than exciting, but it also feels, finally, like something he can manage. "Yeah," he says, meaning it more than he has for a really long time. "Doing okay."


End file.
